


Blood & Dust

by karasgotagun (jazzmckay)



Series: Vampire AU (a.k.a. gay vampire/hunter shenanigans) [2]
Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bad Parent Amanda (Detroit: Become Human), Blood Magic, Connor & CyberLife Tower Connor | RK800-60 & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings, Feral Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Hunter Gavin, M/M, Mind Control, Secret Identity, Vampire Connor (Detroit: Become Human), Withdrawal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-14
Updated: 2020-04-12
Packaged: 2021-02-28 17:01:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 37,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23140609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jazzmckay/pseuds/karasgotagun
Summary: Gavin goes undercover working for the Sterns and gets wrapped up in a larger fight than he bargained for.(can be read separately from part 1 of the series, the stories take place concurrently)
Relationships: Connor/Gavin Reed, Hank Anderson & Gavin Reed
Series: Vampire AU (a.k.a. gay vampire/hunter shenanigans) [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1570300
Comments: 60
Kudos: 143





	1. Chapter 1

The dark hallways of Belle Isle tower are silent save for the rhythmic beat of Gavin’s footsteps. Sharp on stone, dull on tile, muted on carpet. A circuit that brings him through endless offices and conference rooms—the same circuit he has walked six nights a week for the last month.

It’s boring as all hell, and it isn’t bringing him any closer to gathering enough intel to make a move. All the important people and sensitive information are hidden away on levels of the building he doesn’t have the seniority to get near.

Gavin doesn’t even know what corporate foothold the Stern empire has, despite being on their payroll. No one really does. They’re a mysterious family who are rarely seen in public—never, during daylight hours—and so far, Gavin has only met one of them.

At Gavin’s interview, Niles Stern—a behemoth of an individual with pale skin and piercingly blue eyes—had asked him about his work history and combat training, told him what would be expected of him and what areas would be forbidden to him, and then deemed him capable of guarding near-empty hallways throughout the night. As far as Gavin can tell, there isn’t much worth guarding. He’s carrying a gun and wearing a vest for nothing but standard office equipment.

As if by some kind of karmic jinx, he notices a shadow disappearing around the corner of an office ahead.

“Hey!” Gavin calls. “Gonna need some ID before I let you keep walking around up here!”

He’s met with silence, not a single indicator that anyone else is around. Gavin shakes his head to himself. Maybe long hours of walking in circles and looking at the same beige walls is making him see things.

When he passes the office into an open-plan break room, he scans the immediate area just to be sure, and finds nothing.

“Someone here?”

No response. Definitely seeing things. It’s the last hour of his shift and he’s tired enough that by the time he gets home, he’ll be just about ready to fall into bed and conk out until either his alarm goes off or one of his cats decides to scratch up his arm.

A door behind him creaks.

Gavin whirls around, hand dropping to the pistol holster on his belt, but there’s nothing there. All the office and meeting room doors he can see from this angle are shut tight, and most of them are locked, too.

Working a night shift for vampires. What a brilliant idea this had been. Gavin wishes there was someone he could curse for it, but it had been his own damn plan.

Sighing, Gavin turns back around.

And nearly jumps out of his skin.

“Fucking shit, what the hell!”

Perched on the windowsill, half moon hanging in the sky over his shoulder, is one of the Sterns. This one is slighter than the other, and has gold eyes in the place of blue, but the resemblance is apparent.

The vampire smirks, and Gavin catches sight of a sharp fang.

“Feeling jumpy, Mr. Reed?”

As much as Gavin wants to snap at him, knowing full well that he orchestrated all this, he’s making an effort to avoid drawing attention to himself. He tries for a more neutral response.

“You would be jumpy too, if you were as unused to company during your job as I am, sir. I barely even see the other guards.”

Stern rises from the windowsill, movements slow, stalking. “Did you think I was an intruder?”

“I mean, yeah,” Gavin says, shrugging. “Haven’t seen hide nor hair of you executives other than the guy who gave me the job.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Stern presses his palm over his chest, gasping as if scandalised. “How rude of me not to introduce myself.”

He crosses the rest of the distance between them; Gavin expects to be offered a polite handshake, but Stern continues all the way into his personal space, uncomfortably close. Stern is taller than him—not as tall as his brother, but still towering a good two or three inches above Gavin.

“Silas Stern,” he says.

“Gavin Reed, but you already know that.”

“I do. I heard you were a detective.” Silas jabs a finger into Gavin’s sternum, where some officers wear their badges. “And now you’re getting spooked by shadows in an empty corporate building.”

Gavin grits his teeth and curls his hands into fists. “You’re the one who’s skulking around where he shouldn’t be.”

Looming over him, Silas grins wickedly. “I’m a Stern, no single corner of this building is out of bounds, for me.”

Gavin isn’t afraid of the Sterns—he’s fought enough vampires to know what to expect, and he knows vampires like these have rules about killing humans. Silas might like to scare the rookies on the guard force for a bit of fun, but he’ll have to try a lot harder to intimidate someone like Gavin.

Three years ago, Gavin became privy to what horrors a vampire can commit, and Silas Stern is not on that level.

Gavin knocks Silas’ hand away from his chest. “How about you go back up to management to do your job, and leave me alone to do mine.”

In the blink of an eye, too fast to deflect, a hand closes around Gavin’s throat. Silas narrows his golden eyes in time with the tightening of his fingers, frigid and tight against Gavin’s skin.

Reflexively, Gavin sucks in what breath he can, the pulse point in his neck pounding. His hand twitches over the grip of his pistol, ready to pull it from the holster and show the Sterns that he won’t take a threat lying down.

“I’d watch yourself,” Silas whispers between them, leaning down until their noses are almost brushing.

If Gavin makes his move now, he’ll be winging it through what comes after—he hasn’t even seen the CEO, doesn’t know a damn thing about her or her domain at the top of the building. And there are other guards, other humans who won’t realise they should be fighting on Gavin’s side instead of defending their employers.

As much as Gavin wants to dust this vampire here and now, he has to wait. Has to be smart.

“Silas!”

Silas’ eyes snap to a point over Gavin’s shoulder. He sneers in annoyance. “What?”

Footsteps click a quick beat against the floor, drawing nearer, and Gavin struggles to turn his head in Silas’ hold. Another Stern steps into his peripheral, a mirror image of Silas.

“Let him go, right now,” the newcomer says.

The fingers around Gavin’s throat squeeze hard enough that survival instincts kick in, making Gavin grip Silas’ wrist, digging his fingers in and pulling against a supernatural strength.

Silas releases him with a shove, breaking them apart.

Chest tight, Gavin bends over and braces his hands on his knees as he takes in a deep gasp of air. A hand lays down on his back, a soothing gesture that is too familiar for a stranger and too gentle for a vampire.

Gavin doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.

“Leave before you disgrace us more than you already have,” the third Stern snarls.

Silas scoffs. “Figures you would be the spoilsport… Fine, he’s all yours, don’t stay out too late or mother will worry.”

He chuckles under his breath as he saunters away, leaving Gavin with what can only be his twin brother.

“Come, sit down.”

The hand on his back moves, hooking around his bicep and helping him upright. He’s directed into the nearest office, and Stern sits him down in the chair behind the desk.

Gavin raises a hand to his throat, gently rubbing the tender skin that’s sure to bruise. “What the hell,” he croaks.

“I apologise for my brother’s behaviour,” the third Stern says. He unbuttons his suit jacket before sitting on the edge of the desk, gazing down at Gavin with brows furrowed. “Are you going to be alright?”

Gavin’s laugh comes out more like a wheeze. “Who knew the first security risk I’d run into at this job would be getting assaulted by upper management.”

Stern grimaces. “Silas… has a rough temperament.”

“Anger issues, you mean.” Gavin would know. He’s familiar with hair triggers.

“Yes, I suppose that is what I mean. Like I said, I’m sorry. I will sign off on a report to HR, if you make one.”

Anyone else would raise a fuss over this, demand some kind of reparation, but it wouldn’t do Gavin any good to jeopardise his position. He sinks low in the office chair and takes a deep breath, feeling grateful that it didn’t escalate before he was ready. When the time comes, he’s going to take joy in putting a .50 cal in Silas’ skull, but until then, he’s not going to pick a pointless fight.

“It’s fine. He’s lucky I don’t have an itchy trigger finger, though, for Christ’s sake. Does he know what a dumb idea it is to sneak up on someone who's carrying a firearm?”

To this, Stern reacts with a wry smile. Gavin guesses the twins aren’t close.

“So, you’re the last Stern brother I don’t have a name for, yet,” he says.

“Oh, yes, Connor Stern. Just Connor is fine.” Connor’s smile turns softer, genuine. “Silas and I are twins, Niles is our younger brother.”

“Well, Connor, no offense to your brothers, but after only knowing you a couple minutes, you’re already my favourite.”

It’s just a joke, mindless banter—the whole family is made up of vampires and Gavin is going to kill them all, eventually—but Connor sits up straighter, face brightening.

“That’s kind, Mr. Reed.”

Gavin snorts, caught between amusement and bewilderment. The Sterns don’t exactly come across as a united front.

In the awkward silence that ensues, Connor selects a pen out of the mug sitting beside the computer monitor and fidgets, clicking the ink in and out and twirling it around in his fingers.

It’s such a human action, and it takes Gavin by surprise. Most vampires he’s run into fall on opposite sides of a wide spectrum—they’re either the next best thing to feral, showing no humanity whatsoever, or they have an inanimate grace to them that’s born of being far older than they look, confident and poised and larger than life.

The first vampire Gavin ever caught wind of managed to be both. To do something so horrific, they must have been as monstrous as a vampire can be, but cunning and experienced enough to evade the police. They never found the bastard, not through official channels, and not through unofficial ones, either.

Hank will never stop looking. Where Gavin and Tina have chalked it up to a lost cause, Hank won’t rest until he finds his son’s killer.

Gavin pivots his chair and Connor startles, fumbling the pen. It slips from his grasp and drops to the carpeted floor.

“I’ve got it,” Gavin says. He leans down and retrieves the pen, offering it back to Connor.

“Thanks.” Connor smiles at him again and replaces the pen in the mug. He stands up and offers Gavin his hand.

Gavin takes it, allowing himself to be pulled up onto his feet. It brings them close together, much like Silas invading his space, but with a completely different air, tense in a way that makes Gavin’s skin prickle instead of putting him on the defensive.

Connor drops his hand like he’s been burned and steps back, eyes darting away as he rebuttons his jacket. “You should take the rest of the night off. If you’re feeling too unwell to drive, I’ll arrange transport, and if you want a medical examination—”

“Hey, relax,” Gavin says, holding up a hand to stop him. “I’m good. Been hurt way worse than this. Some Advil and sleep and I’ll be as good as new.”

“I hope so.” As he smooths down his jacket and clasps his hands together at the small of his back, Connor’s demeanour switches from casual and awkward to all business. “I assure you, another such altercation will not occur again, regardless of what action you decide to take.”

With a shrug, Gavin shoulders past him. The next time something like this happens, Gavin might be the one to start it, and he plans to end it with the Sterns all reduced to ash. “No biggie.”

Connor nods and follows him out of the office. He escorts Gavin to the Security Department where Gavin locks up his gear, and then downstairs to the parking garage. He’s silent the whole way, carrying out his duty with professionalism, no softness remaining.

“Have a good night, Mr. Reed,” he says politely when he sees Gavin off at his car.

The sky is already brightening to grey by the time Gavin returns home and manages to fall asleep that night, relaxed by painkillers and a mouthful of whiskey.

His last waking thought isn’t of Silas’ fingers cold around his throat, but of Connor’s palm resting gently on his back.

* * *

The next evening, Niles is waiting for him in the Security Office with an agreement form to sign, stating that he isn’t interested in taking legal action against Stern Incorporated. Gavin does so without much convincing, already knowing that the only justice he needs will be delivered by steel and lead.

He doesn’t see any of the Stern family for the rest of the night. As expected, his neck is tinged purple and it aches if he turns his head too far—it’s a constant reminder of what happened, even if the twins are nowhere to be seen.

Everything goes back to the same boring, lonely circuits around cubicle mazes after that, like nothing happened in the first place. Gavin spends his evenings either going into autopilot or reviewing what information he has managed to glean so far.

Four Sterns—three brothers, and their Sire. They’re fairly reclusive and Gavin hasn’t gotten close enough to any of them to figure out what kind of vampiric powers they possess.

It isn’t a solid starting point. All Gavin knows for sure is that he wants to put Silas down first.

At the end of the week, his schedule changes. In a stroke of luck, he’s been reassigned to the upper floors, where he might finally catch a glimpse of Amanda Stern herself.

The difference between the lower floors and the upper floors is stark. Carpet and linoleum become marble, beige becomes gold, plain becomes opulent. Large paintings adorn the walls and there’s a glass chandelier hanging over the foyer that branches out into the offices.

From one hallway, Connor approaches, his back straight and face placid. “Follow me, Mr. Reed.”

The business version of Connor leads Gavin through the hall to an office that’s almost as large as the entire bullpen back at Central Station.

“You’ll be posted here from now on,” Connor says.

Gavin looks in through the grand double doors of the office, seeing that it’s empty. There’s no one else in sight.

“This is your office, isn’t it?”

Connor tugs on the end of his sleeve and adjusts his cufflink. “Yes. My brothers won’t bother you here.”

“Huh,” Gavin intones thoughtfully. “Requested the transfer yourself?”

This new assignment puts Gavin near Connor at all times, which is helpful for his secret mission, and is oddly considerate by corporate standards, let alone vampire standards. He already signed away his right to make trouble over the dispute with Silas.

“I did, yes. I hope that doesn’t bother you.”

Gavin shrugs one shoulder, casual. “Guard duty is guard duty.”

“Not as thrilling as your old job, I imagine.”

“Not exactly,” Gavin says vaguely. With every instance of his old occupation being brought up, he becomes more wary that he’s already on their radar, just because he happens to be ex-law enforcement instead of ex-military. “But, uh… the thrill isn’t all it’s cracked up to be. Hence the career change.”

Connor tilts his head as he regards Gavin, gaze flickering down to his chest and back up. “Really? You seem suited to it. The rate with which you closed cases was exemplary.”

Gavin tugs on the tight collar of his uniform shirt, grimacing when the bulletproof vest doesn’t allow much leeway. “Thanks,” he mutters. “Still, needed a change of pace.”

“Well, I hope you feel more at home here,” Connor says, smiling in a way that softens the hard edges of his face. “You know, I wanted to be a detective when I was younger.”

Gavin raises his eyebrows. He wonders what Connor considers his younger years, and what kinds of detectives he hoped to emulate. “No shit?”

“Yes, it always seemed like a satisfying job, in all respects. Solving a mystery, catching a bad person, helping people and making the city safer…”

Those are the interests of a human; these days, Connor is one of the bad people he might have wanted to catch in the past. But he doesn’t sound like he has done away with his interest. The way he talks about it is almost reverent, romanticising, of a job that feels less victorious than it seems from the outside. At best, they balance the scales, coming in too late to do anything better than that.

Some scales never get balanced. Some monsters don’t get caught.

“So what happened?” Gavin asks, eager to hear how Connor explains the divergence his life took. “How’d you end up in a place like this, pushing paper behind a desk night in and night out? I bet the most action you see is the photocopier running out of ink.”

Connor crosses his arms, tapping his fingers against his bicep. “My brothers and I were taken in by Amanda, and she wanted something more for us.”

For Amanda Stern, ‘more’ must have meant turning them into vampires so they could help her ascend the hierarchy of the underworld.

“Sounds like bullshit to me.”

Connor’s eyes widen and dart down the hallway, like he expects Amanda to materialise out of the shadows and catch them in the act of some grave disobedience.

It would be funny, if it weren’t so baffling. A rivalry between brothers, Gavin can understand, but dissonance between a Sire and the vampires they create is something unique. In Gavin’s experience, vampires all want the same thing, all live the same cursed existence, and they’re either smart enough to fly under the radar or a hunter catches up with them and puts them down.

The Sterns are among the intelligent opportunists, but Gavin expected their empire to be a common goal, not the machinations of the matriarch alone.

“Relax,” he teases, clapping Connor on the shoulder. “We’re just shooting the shit, not planning a rebellion.”

“Right, of course,” Connor mumbles.

He’s still tense, so Gavin gives his shoulder another companionable pat, aiming for friendly and familiar. In the days of working for the precinct, he’d only felt comfortable acting like this with Chris—he’s unused to both the action and making nice with vampires, but Connor gives him an appreciative look, so the gesture pays off.

“And hey, I’ve got plenty of police stories to share, if you want to live a little vicariously,” Gavin adds.

Connor drops his hands at his sides, regaining his semblance of calm. “I would like that, Mr. Reed.”

“If we’re going to be seeing each other a lot in the future, you might as well start calling me Gavin.”

“Gavin, then,” Connor says, giving a single nod. “But for now, I should get back to work.”

Gavin does a lazy salute as Connor draws away from him, heading into the office.

He leaves one of the doors half open, so Gavin watches him sit down at his desk and pull a stack of paper towards himself before he turns around and posts up against the wall, eyes ahead at the empty hallway.

During Gavin’s entire shift, only Niles appears for a brief visit. He closes the door when he enters Connor’s office, blocking their voices while they meet, and he shuts it again when he exits, keeping Gavin cut off even after he’s gone.

An hour before sunrise, Connor leaves for the night.

“See you tomorrow, Mr. Reed,” he says on his way out, reverting to formality.

Gavin doesn’t correct him. He watches Connor go all the way down the hallway until he turns out of Gavin’s line of sight, disappearing to wherever he spends the daylight hours.

For five excruciating minutes, Gavin waits, just in case.

Connor doesn’t reappear, and the cleaning crew won’t be around for another half hour, at least.

Turning to face the door of Connor’s office, Gavin fishes his wallet out of his back pocket and retrieves a key ring clone he swiped from a security box downstairs during his second week on the job.

One of the keys fits perfectly into the lock and Gavin pushes the door wide open. According to the system information he found in the Security Office, there are no alarms or cameras to worry about within the exec offices—vampires are not only private creatures, but slow to adapt to new technology.

Connor’s desk is tidy, impersonal. Gavin riffles through documents and office supplies, searching for anything out of the ordinary, anything that will grant him an edge when it’s time to make his move.

A small slip of photo stock paper falls from a file folder Gavin lifts out of a drawer, fluttering onto the walnut wood desk.

Two people stand side by side in black and white—a woman in a woolen dress, her dark hair pinned up in a neat bun, and a tall man in suspenders and a cap. Both have one arm outstretched as if their palms are resting on the shoulders of others sitting in front of them, but the photograph has been torn in half, removing the rest of the subjects. Gavin flips it over, reading the faded cursive on the aged back of the photo.

Arkay family, 1806.

The lower half of the photograph must have been the children, and Gavin is willing to bet they were three young boys.

Connor is a vampire who grieves for a life lost. For human parents who have been dead for over a century.

Carefully, Gavin replaces the torn photograph between Connor’s files and sets them back into the desk.

A small part of him feels like he’s intruding. It shouldn’t matter, he shouldn’t care, but—

Gavin takes his wallet back out, pulling on the edge of photo paper jammed into one of the card slots.

His mother, in the backyard of his childhood home. Her curls are frizzy with humidity, and sweat glistens on her forehead. She’s smiling, carefree and happy, in that snapshot moment. Barely a year later, Gavin saw her smile for the very last time.

“Shit,” Gavin mutters under his breath.

He puts the tiny photo back in place, shoves his wallet into his pocket, and steps away from Connor’s desk. There’s no relevant information to be found here, and he wants to be gone by the time the cleaning staff shows up.

With his stolen key, Gavin locks the office behind himself, and is gone.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> big thanks to [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) for beta reading!

Standing guard outside Connor’s office is even more boring than patrolling the halls. The scenery never changes and Gavin grows restless too fast and he can’t stop thinking about that old photograph with its torn bottom edge.

The most exciting his new assignment gets is an evening when Connor hosts guests and Gavin checks their temporary IDs before letting them inside. They’re all pallid and haughty; Gavin knows he’s standing guard in front of an office full of vampires, but there’s nothing for him to do about it but keep up the act.

He breaks into Niles’ office a couple weeks in and discovers the address for their home location on some formal invitations Niles is writing to associates. He calls it the Detroit Chantry.

It’s the best Gavin’s got.

He returns to his assignment, makes polite conversation with Connor when Connor is willing to step away from his work, and pretends to be a friendly and oblivious employee.

Gavin isn’t surprised when Silas makes an appearance.

“There you are, detective,” he greets as he joins Gavin at Connor’s office door. “It has been too long.”

As always, one door is partially open, but Gavin doesn’t hear movement from within the room—Connor hasn’t noticed his brother, yet.

“Can’t say I missed your brand of insufferable, Silas.”

Silas grins and rocks forward on the balls of his feet, leaning in too close. “Kitty’s got claws.”

Gavin resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Get better material. What are you doing here?”

“I’ve come to see my dear brother, of course,” Silas says. “But I’m in no rush.”

“Lucky me,” Gavin deadpans.

“Indeed,” Silas says, ignoring the sarcasm. “You’ve really moved up the ranks since we last saw each other. Normally, employees need tenure before they’re allowed up here.”

It is a stroke of luck that Gavin has been fast tracked into the vampires' domain—Gavin hadn’t been looking forward to stagnating on one hunt while the rest of the world continued to spin beyond Belle Isle. He’s sure Hank and Tina are taking care of any major threats, but he starts to itch when he hasn’t gotten a kill in a while.

“Yeah, sure, a silver lining to getting strangled.”

Silas leans to the side, gazing through the open door of the office. “Then again, Connor has taken such a liking to you that you might’ve ended up right here no matter what…”

Gavin frowns. “What the hell does that mean?”

“Oh, you should have seen him when Niles suggested you for hiring.” Silas makes a point of clearing his throat and then takes on a light voice, simpering. “His record is incredible; he most assuredly would have made Sergeant once the previous one retired. Do you think he got that scar while saving orphans from a fire? If I asked nicely, do you think he would let me suck—”

Teeth gritted and cheeks aflame, Gavin grabs a fistful of Silas’ shirt and jerks him forward, bringing their faces close together. “Shut the fuck up.”

Silas chuckles low in the back of his throat. Even while pulled forward, he has some height on Gavin, and is nonplussed by the show of aggression, stealing away any sense of satisfaction Gavin might have felt.

“Just shut the fuck up,” Gavin repeats as he shoves Silas away.

He knows Connor is interested in his detective work, but the rest is over the top, doesn’t sound like the composed Connor he knows. Silas is just being a jackass.

Gavin runs his hand through his hair, letting the action distract him from Silas’ watchful eye.

Next to him, Connor steps into view, and Gavin can’t help but be thankful for the rescue.

“In my office,” Connor says, voice cold and hard.

He takes Silas’ arm and pulls him through the doorway, sparing Gavin only a fleeting glance before following his brother inside and shutting the door behind them.

In the quiet solitude Gavin is left with, the rapid beating of his heart and the uncomfortable elevation of his body heat is more pronounced, agitating him enough that he takes to pacing back and forth in front of the office doors.

This job is starting to get on his nerves. He should leave the espionage shit to Tina and go back to dusting vampires in shadowed alleyways and nightclub bathroom stalls, quick and easy.

If he doesn’t find more useful information soon, he’s going to just make do with what he has already and hope for the best. He needs to put the Sterns—Connor, especially—behind him.

It’s a long half hour before Silas steps out of Connor’s office. He shoots a smirk at Gavin but doesn’t stick around.

From inside the office, Connor calls, “Mr. Reed—a word, please.”

Gavin cracks the knuckles of his thumbs as he turns into the office, finding Connor seated at one end of his elegant meeting couch, the tips of his fingers pressed into his temple.

He looks the same way Gavin feels after an encounter with Silas. “Hey.”

“Have a seat.” Connor waves his free hand at the adjacent armchair.

Gavin does, back straight and shoulders tense.

“Once again, I apologise for my brother’s conduct. I should have clarified that I would join him in his office rather than host him here.”

Connor looks exhausted and shamed, and Gavin wonders how much he overheard before he stepped in. With his supernatural senses, he could have picked up on all of it, once he noticed Silas was present.

“He’s one hell of a bastard, but I’m fine,” Gavin says. Recalling his days of ambition and vitriol at Central, he sighs. “Takes one to know one, anyway.”

“I’ve found you quite personable.”

Gavin snorts in amusement. “Well, you’re the first person to say something like that. My friends wouldn’t believe it unless they heard it straight from you.”

Connor drops his arm down to lay across the end of the couch. “In that case, I’m glad to see a unique side of you.”

There’s more of that going around than Connor knows. Gavin thinks of that old family portrait, half torn away and hidden in the bottom of a drawer.

“Nonetheless, I made you a promise and I broke it,” Connor continues. “I’ll do better in the future.”

“You always so tightly wound?”

Connor’s brow furrows. “Excuse me?”

Gavin sits back in his chair, loosely folding his arms over his chest. “Just saying, you’re… pretty severe. Man, if I couldn’t handle Silas’ shit, I’d have done something about it. Either way, you’re not responsible for his actions.”

Connor blinks at him, lips parting in surprise.

“I, uh, appreciate it, though,” Gavin adds. “There’s just no need to be so hard on yourself.”

“Right, of course…” Connor mumbles. He wets his lips and swallows thickly. “Thank you for your understanding.”

Gavin offers him a lopsided grin, even as he feels ice spread through his chest. Years ago, he’d had to overcome the same feeling of responsibility and guilt for another’s mistakes, and to find that familiarity in Connor causes him a blend of rare empathy and uncertainty.

With a sigh, Connor relaxes into the corner of the couch. “What is your family like? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“Jeez, bringing out the heavy hitters,” Gavin jokes, but continues before Connor can take the question back. “It was just my mom and I when I was a kid, then a string of shitty foster care homes after she died, until I hit eighteen.”

“Oh,” Connor says, face falling. “I’m sorry.”

Gavin shrugs, putting on a nonchalant front. “Didn’t have much time with her, but the years we did have were good. Better that than a lifetime with a family I can’t get along with, I guess.”

“Silas wasn’t always like this.” Connor’s eyes drop to his lap and he smooths a wrinkle in his pant leg. “He was always quick to face off against others, always had a temper, but… in his own righteous way. He was protective of Niles and I, for instance.”

With the way Silas has mocked and antagonised Connor, Gavin can hardly believe it, but Connor’s expression is grave and he gains nothing from lying. Whether the change happened before or after the brothers were turned into vampires, Gavin can only guess, but he'd put money on after.

“That means there’s a chance he could change back, right?”

The words leave a bad taste in Gavin’s mouth. He doubts there’s any going back for a vampire once they’ve chosen their path, and if Gavin has his way, none of the Sterns will make it past the next few weeks.

“Maybe,” Connor says, more to himself than Gavin. “A lot would need to change to facilitate it.”

There’s a rift between Connor and the rest of his family, one that likely started when Amanda Stern entered their lives. It isn’t a dynamic Gavin has seen at play before. He never got close enough to see anything deeper than the surface level.

It’s new food for thought—vampires having complex motivations the way humans do.

“Worth a try,” Gavin says. He forces his next words past his teeth, fighting to not let on how he’s bristling against the sentiment. “Hold onto the family you’ve got.”

None the wiser, Connor smiles, soft and warm. “Thank you, Mr. Reed.”

“Yeah, sure. And it’s Gavin, remember?”

“Yes, of course.” Connor stands, renewed energy in his form. “It has been a pleasure to speak with you, as always, Gavin.”

Understanding that it’s time for them both to get back to work, Gavin follows suit. “Take it easy, Connor,” he says, before showing himself out of the room, feeling like he’s being watched the whole way.

* * *

On his day off, Gavin finds himself at Hank’s. His sleep schedule is all out of whack from his night shifts and it’s nearly midnight when he steps up to the front door, raises his hand to ring the doorbell, then thinks better of it. If Hank has fallen asleep already, he’ll tear Gavin a new one for waking him that way.

Instead, he circles around to the backyard and jimmies the lock on the sliding kitchen door, letting himself in.

Sumo is snoring in the corner of the living room and the place is dark, save for low lamplight emanating from down the hallway. Gavin pulls a beer out of the fridge before heading further into the house.

“Hank?” he calls from the living room.

He hears footsteps and watches the light flicker as Hank walks across the beam of it, stepping out of his bedroom with a glare already in place. “The fuck are you doing?”

“What does it look like I’m doing?”

Hank counts off on his fingers. “First, like you’re breaking into my house. Second, you’re giving me attitude even though  _ you  _ broke into  _ my  _ fucking house. Third, you’ve helped yourself to my beer. You prick.”

Gavin smirks as he brings the bottle back up to his lips for a mouthful. “Missed you too, Anderson.”

Shaking his head, Hank comes down the hall, moving past Gavin to get a beer of his own.

Sumo rouses as the two of them sit down on the couch together, padding over and laying his head on Gavin’s thigh for a scratch behind the ears.

“So what’s this about?” Hank asks.

Gavin shrugs. “Nothing, really.”

“You came here at midnight to, what, drink beer and chat?”

“Maybe.”

Hank sighs as he sags into the back of the couch. “Your timing sucks.”

“Night shifts suck.”

“That’s what you get for taking a job like this. Is it working out?”

“A little bit.” Gavin picks at the beer label wrapped around his bottle, coaxing the corner away from the glass. “I’ve only managed to get close to a couple of them. Got the location of where they spend the day, but that’s it.”

“Well, suppose that’s something.”

They lapse into silence, both nursing their beers in the quiet darkness while Sumo requests attention from both of them. Gavin doesn’t mind—Hank is someone he can just exist with, no tension, no expectations. The last few years haven’t been good to Hank, and their relationship is different now than it used to be, but it’s a change they went through together.

This is their reality now: being awake at odd hours, living unconventional lifestyles, and putting themselves in even more danger than they did while on the force. Because this is what it takes to get the job done.

A job that has to get done. Gavin needs to stay focused, maintain forward motion, complete the task he set for himself when he looked into job opportunities at Belle Isle.

When Cole was killed, it set the three of them on an alternative path, and Gavin doesn’t intend to lose sight of that. There are bags under Hank’s eyes that have been there for three years, a curve to his back and a slump to his shoulders, like a permanent weight has settled over him.

“Heard from Tina lately?” Hank asks.

“Nah. Guess we’ve both been pretty busy, and on opposite schedules.”

“So you’ll show up at my place in the middle of the night but not hers, is what you’re saying.”

Gavin chuckles. “Haven’t learned how to pick electronic locks, yet.”

“You don’t have to break in, asshole.”

Waiting at the door to be let in sets a different tone, feels too much like he needs a reason to be standing on Hank’s porch. They don’t do casual house calls, anymore, don’t talk about much other than the next job. No tension, no expectations. Gavin doesn’t want to make a big deal of it, or admit that he’s feeling unsteady, he just wants Hank to set him straight without even knowing Gavin needs righting in the first place.

It’s just that talking about family has gotten Gavin thinking about who the most important people in his life are, these days.

Hank and Tina are the  _ only  _ people in his life. Vampire hunting doesn’t exactly leave much room for socialisation.

“Relax, I didn’t break anything,” Gavin jokes.

Hank shakes his head again, but there’s no anger left in his form, just a tired exasperation.

He doesn’t kick Gavin out of his home, doesn’t tell Gavin to get lost. It’s nice to not be turned away.

“Hey, think I could crash here tonight?”

Hank sets his empty beer bottle down on the coffee table, glass thudding against wood, loud amidst the quiet. He leans forward with his elbows braced on his knees, but angles toward Gavin. “Yeah, Gavin, you can stay here. Something wrong with your own apartment?”

“No,” Gavin answers honestly, but explains no further.

Hank considers him, probably only for a few seconds, but it feels like longer. Feels like an age. 

“Alright.” Sitting up, Hank grasps Gavin’s shoulder. “Stay as long as you want.”

He stands, taking his empty bottle in hand again and reaching out to take Gavin’s, too. Gavin hands it over and watches Hank step into the kitchen, set them down on the counter next to the sink. Gavin half expects him to get a fresh pair out of the fridge, but Hank surprises him by coming back empty-handed.

“I’m guessing you’re going to be up for a couple hours, yet,” he says.

“Don’t know. An early night sounds kind of nice.”

Hank idly taps his fingers against the back of the couch. “I’ll leave you to it, then. Help yourself to the library, if you want,” he says, waving a hand at the TV.

“Cool.”

With a nod, Hank draws back, towards the hallway.

“And thanks,” Gavin adds.

“Anytime.”

Gavin knows he means it, isn’t just saying it. He listens to Hank’s footsteps trailing back to the bedroom, followed by the click of the door shutting. The lamplight winks out and the living room goes dark.

After kicking his shoes off, Gavin lays down and shuts his eyes. He may not be any closer to having his thoughts sorted out about the Sterns—about Connor—but there’s comfort in resting here, on a friend’s living room couch.

For once, he falls asleep in minutes, and his dreams are calm.

* * *

The next couple of weeks at Belle Isle are uneventful. Connor stops to speak with Gavin often, and while Gavin knows they’re both keeping major secrets from each other, he doesn’t mind the small talk, doesn’t mind getting closer to Connor.

Building a rapport isn’t necessary—Gavin doesn’t think he’s going to learn much more about the Sterns than he already has. If anything—

If anything, he’s making it harder for himself to lock in. With every night that passes, the thought of dusting Connor becomes less like something he’s going to feel good about.

He feels anxious and stressed, and it makes an old habit rear its head. One night after Connor brushes close to him, sending sparks across Gavin’s body just from their arms touching for the briefest second, he stops at a gas station to buy a pack of cigarettes. He stands on his balcony, squinting against the morning sunrise, and smokes three in a row before he can settle enough to go to bed.

The night after that, Connor greets him with a bright smile. His fangs don’t make his expression any less radiant and Gavin has to go outside for his break and smoke a couple more cigarettes just to make it through the rest of his shift.

It carries on like that, until Gavin shows up one evening and Connor is waiting for him in the lobby. In the place of a friendly greeting, Connor meets him with his lips in a thin, straight line, fingers threaded together tightly.

“Let’s step outside for a minute,” Connor says.

“Alright…”

Connor leads him across the lot, to a stone path that connects the tower to the auxiliary buildings on the island, following it until they reach a garden that borders the property. Trees frame a view of the Detroit river and flowers sway gently in the nighttime breeze.

“What’s wrong?” Gavin asks as they come to a stop and face each other.

Connor grins, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Still a detective through and through.”

“I don’t have to be a detective to know that something is bothering you, Connor.”

The breeze picks up, ruffling the strands of Connor’s bangs that always fall over his forehead. Gavin shivers, not from the summer air, but the chilling atmosphere swirling around Connor.

“Seriously, what is it?” he prompts. The temptation to fish a cigarette out of his pocket is almost too strong to ignore and he tries to lighten the mood, cut through the tension. “Oh shit, am I being fired?”

“No, no, I’m not firing you.” Connor squeezes his eyes shut, pinching the bridge of his nose. “But I am asking you to quit, I suppose.”

Gavin rears back, brows furrowed. “What?”

Shoulders sagging, Connor drops his hand away from his face and locks eyes with Gavin, looking miserable. “I can’t really explain it all, I’m sorry. But I think… it would be better for you to work somewhere else.”

The words hang in the silence between them as Gavin scrambles to make sense of what Connor is saying.

There have been no more altercations with Silas. Working close to Connor is almost enjoyable, despite the stretches of boredom and the nature of his employers.

There’s a job to be done. Gavin can’t just drop it after spending weeks vying for scraps of information.

He shakes his head, stunned and disbelieving. “You can’t be serious.”

“You’ve already had trouble, here,” Connor says, gesturing at the tower in the distance. “You can’t possibly want to keep working in this environment.”

“I’ve told you, I can handle your brother.”

Connor’s eyes drift over Gavin’s shoulders and his hands curl into fists. “No, you can’t.”

Gavin can, and he will, but Connor doesn’t know that. He thinks Gavin is an ordinary, ignorant human who can’t fathom what he’s mixed up in.

“Connor, listen…”

“No,” Connor snaps. “You don’t understand, and I can’t help you understand, but I need you to trust me. Find work elsewhere. You’ll be better off.”

Swallowing around the lump forming in his throat, Gavin stuffs his hand into his jacket pocket, wrapping it around his carton of cigarettes. A cardboard corner pokes into the rough skin of his palm.

“I like working with you.”

It isn’t a lie.

Connor softens. “I’ve enjoyed working with you too, and that’s why I’m saying all this. I’m trying to do what’s best for you.”

“I get it,” Gavin says. “Thing is, though… I’m a stubborn bastard who doesn’t scare easily. If you want me gone, you really are gonna have to fire me.”

“Mr. Reed—”

“It’s Gavin.”

Connor turns away from him, stepping deeper into the garden. He stops perpendicular to a trellis of red roses. “Silas isn’t the worst my family has to offer.”

In all the time Gavin has been working on Belle Isle, he has still never caught a single glimpse of Amanda Stern. When she and Connor need to speak, he always goes to her, not the other way around, and Gavin still hasn’t found a way to gain access to the penthouse office.

He follows after Connor, refusing to back down. “I can take care of myself, Connor. Not that I plan to pick any fights.”

Not in the way Connor might expect, anyway.

Glancing over his shoulder at Gavin, Connor purses his lips. “You really won’t take my advice, will you?”

“Nah,” Gavin answers, unrepentant. It isn’t just about the job—he isn’t ready to walk away from Connor, either.

Tree leaves rustle above, casting shadows across Connor’s features as he faces Gavin once again.

“Then you’re fired, effective immediately. I’m sorry.”

Cardboard crinkles in Gavin’s pocket as his hand reflexively tightens around his carton of cigarettes. He hadn’t thought—even with how adamant Connor was acting—that he would follow through, would go so far.

“Hold on a second—”

Connor lifts a palm, stopping him. “Effective immediately. Please go turn in any company assets you have in your possession.”

“For fuck’s sake, Connor!”

He reaches for Connor’s arm but Connor swerves away before he can make contact, stepping back and straightening his suit jacket, all while avoiding Gavin’s eye.

“Have a good evening, Mr. Reed.”

With that, he walks away, taking the path back to the tower.

Gavin stands in the garden, alone with the fluttering of leaves in the wind, watching him go.

Hands shaking, he pulls a cigarette out of his pocket and lights up.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) for giving me good advice and wrangling my overuse of commas :)

After smoking the rest of his relapse pack of cigarettes, Gavin sleeps for ten hours straight.

Weeks spent on Belle Isle have gone down the drain in the blink of an eye, leaving him with mental vertigo, with the feeling of being hollowed out. He should have fought harder, should have convinced Connor to back down.

He should have done his damn job. The two of them were alone at the riverside, cloaked by darkness and the canopy of trees—Gavin couldn’t orchestrate such a perfect moment to dust a vampire without alerting the others.

It hadn’t even crossed his mind, and Gavin—

Gavin has no regrets. He has frustration, guilt, and confusion, but no regrets.

His cats grow impatient with him after another half hour of laying in bed staring at the ceiling, so he forces himself out of bed to feed them.

He ends up sitting on the kitchen counter in nothing but sweatpants, watching them eat, mind going blank.

There’s nothing else to do. He has no job anymore, not a legitimate one nor a hunting one. Gavin doesn’t know what his next steps are, and a large part of him doesn’t give a shit.

What he needs is a distraction.

Dropping in on Hank or Tina isn’t an option, unless he wants to explain what has him in a funk, so he goes out on his own that night, seeking mind-numbingly loud music and carefree inebriation. He buys another pack of cigarettes on the way and smokes one while waiting in line at a nightclub.

Once inside, he orders himself a couple shots right off the bat, then finds someone to dance with.

All Gavin wants is one regular night.

It turns out to be too much to ask. Only half an hour passes before he notices someone, someone with an aura Gavin has grown familiar with after three years of hunting. The blond vampire is sitting on a plush bench up against the wall, his eyes—a pale, crystal blue—roaming across the dance floor in search of prey.

Gavin goes to the bar, orders another two shots, and does the very last thing he should do. The last thing he wants to do.

The vampire’s unearthly eyes size him up as he approaches and a smirk grows on his face when Gavin hands him one of the shots.

“Thanks, sweetheart,” the vampire says as they clink their glasses together.

Gavin throws his shot back, licking a stray drop of bitter alcohol from his lips. “My pleasure.”

“There’s plenty of pleasure to be had, why don’t you join me?”

It’s all the invitation Gavin needs. He sets his empty shot glass on the table of the booth next to them before resting his knees on the bench beside the vampire’s thighs, sinking down to straddle his lap. The vampire circles one hand around Gavin’s waist and places the other on the back of his neck, still grinning as he draws Gavin down.

The kiss is rough and Gavin can feel the razor-edged points of the vampire’s fangs come just shy of drawing blood from his lips.

This is a dangerous game Gavin has played with targets before, and he isn’t too worried, doesn’t recoil from frigid skin and sharp teeth. It’s familiar enough, he doesn’t mind it. Would _like_ it, if it were—

“Let’s go somewhere private,” he growls against the vampire’s mouth.

“I couldn’t possibly say no to that tone.”

Gavin kisses the vampire again, nipping at his bottom lip before pulling away and standing. He offers his hands to the vampire, pulling him up and back into his space.

They find the back exit together, the vampire's arm curling around Gavin's waist as they weave through the crowd. His grip is firm and his skin is too cold to pose as natural against the heat of the nightclub, making an uncomfortable shiver creep up Gavin’s spine.

As soon as they’re outside, the vampire has him pinned to the opposite wall of the alley, a leg thrust in between Gavin’s to knock his knees apart.

Gavin runs a hand up the vampire’s toned chest, bringing it all the way up to his neck and casually wrapping his fingers around, light enough not to raise the alarm.

“You know what caught my attention about you?” he asks, voice breathy.

The vampire tilts his head, gazing down at Gavin with hungry curiosity. “Do tell.”

“Those eyes.” Gavin bucks his hips forward against the vampire’s, giving himself space to put his free hand behind his back and slip a knife out of the strap on his belt. “They’re unreal, you know.”

The vampire’s grin is all predatory, no seduction. “That’s a good word for them, sweetheart. I’m about to show you just how—”

With a steady hand and trained precision, Gavin tightens his grip on the vampire’s neck and forces his head back as he stabs up with the knife, embedding in the vampire’s chin.

The creature gasps wetly around a mouthful of metal and blood, those supernatural eyes going wide with shock.

For just a moment, Gavin sees dark hair instead of blond, gold eyes instead of blue— 

He sees a mirage, sees _Silas—_

Who shares a face with _Connor_.

The illusion shatters as Gavin shoves the vampire away from him, pulling his knife free in the process. Blood sprays in an arc between them as the vampire falls to the ground, bringing his hands up to stop the flow.

The vampire could still heal from this, if Gavin leaves him right now. If he walks away, this damage won’t be permanent, the job won’t be done.

Can’t leave a job undone.

Gavin drops down on top of the vampire, holding the grip of his knife in both hands. “Eyes on me, _sweetheart_ ,” he snarls.

The vampire complies with a glare, surprise morphing into anger, and makes a swipe at the side of Gavin’s face. Gavin dodges without breaking eye contact, needing to stay focused on crystal irises, glinting pale with moonlight, so different from Connor’s.

He brings the knife down into the center of the vampire’s forehead, tearing through bone.

It stops the vampire mid-swing of his next attack—his arms go limp, dropping down to the pavement, palms red with blood.

Holding one hand down on the vampire’s forehead, Gavin wrenches the knife back out and slashes it across the vampire’s throat.

And that does it. The vampire shatters into dust beneath Gavin, crumbling into nothingness.

Breathing hard, Gavin eases backwards, slumping against the alley’s brick wall, knees bent upwards, arms balanced on top of them. He watches a drop of blood fall from the tip of his knife, splattering to the ground between his legs. Dark red blends into asphalt black.

He’s a mess—sweaty, bloody, hazy from alcohol.

He’s lucky.

This was stupid. So fucking stupid.

Should have left well enough alone. But then the vampire would have found someone else, someone who doesn’t always gear up with concealed weapons before leaving home. This is what he’s supposed to do. Hunt, kill, remove monsters from the world.

It’s supposed to be straightforward. He isn’t supposed to—

Isn’t supposed to feel however he’s feeling.

The door to the nightclub opens with a clang and the music from inside grows louder, accompanying a pair of excited voices.

Gavin scrambles to his feet and turns to face the wall, holding his hands and his knife hidden behind his body.

The voices cut out when the newcomers notice him.

“Can’t a man take a piss in peace?” Gavin slurs at them.

One of them scoffs, grimacing in disgust as she links arms with her companion. “Come on, let’s go. It’s disgusting back here.”

They leave, and Gavin leans his forehead against the brick wall, taking the time to catch his breath. He needs to get home and clean himself up.

He holsters his knife, pushes away from the wall, and takes his phone out to request a rideshare.

His fingers leave streaks of red across the backlit screen.

* * *

The next night he goes out, he gets what he wanted the first time. If there are any vampires around, Gavin doesn’t notice them, and it isn’t long before he’s way too drunk to deal with one regardless.

He goes home with someone, and after the guy has fallen asleep, Gavin lets himself out onto his patio for a smoke.

Part of him feels guilty, which makes him angry. He has no one to be faithful to.

Still, the thought of getting back in bed with a stranger makes his stomach churn, and he knows how much of a terror he can be with a morning hangover, so he decides not to stick around.

He doesn’t go home with anyone else in the nights that follow.

Losing one of his primary distractions leaves Gavin even more listless, causes him to look up the location of the Detroit Chantry and make the harebrained decision to scope it out.

It’s a large property in the older part of town, bordering on a cemetery. Trees hide all but a sliver of it from the view on the street and a cobblestone pathway overgrown with long grass leads the way to the limestone steps of the grand building.

It looks old and abandoned, weathered and reclaimed by the earth.

Gavin knows better. The chantry isn’t well-kept compared to the garden on Belle Isle, but it has a spellbinding effect all the same, like sacred ground that has withstood the test of time. He sits at the base of a tree facing the structure, eyes trailing along the cracks in the discoloured stone and the ivy climbing the porch pillars, and he smokes.

Debates whether or not he could storm the place, if he could do what he originally set out to do. All of them would be there—Connor included. There may even be more. Ones who don’t work on Belle Isle.

Holding his hand away from his legs, Gavin taps his thumb against his cigarette until the buildup of ash falls away. He can see embers flare when he brings it back to his lips.

If Gavin cared less about collateral damage, he might consider jury rigging an explosive. It’s more trouble than he ever cares to put into a job, but in a way, it would be easier. It would be instant, impersonal.

But he does care about collateral damage. It’s why he became a cop, why he became a hunter.

In the end, he does nothing—just returns to the street, leaving a crushed cigarette butt on the curb, and goes home.

* * *

That evening, he receives an unexpected email: a formal, almost automated, message from his former employers asking him to meet with the HR Department so they can finalize something about his severance.

Gavin is laid back across his couch, a cat curled up between his ankles. He can’t think of any reason he needs to go back to the tower, especially with how adamant Connor was about him leaving straight away. He has already received his last paycheck.

After years of detective work, Gavin has a sense for when a situation is more complicated under the surface—something tells him the way Connor sent him packing isn’t official enough for the rest of the Stern family and it has drawn attention to both of them. What kind of attention, though, Gavin can’t say.

The phone’s backlight goes out, casting the screen in darkness. Gavin sets it down on his chest, then lays his arm across his face, covering his eyes.

His cat makes a soft _meep_ sound at him and bumps her head against his shin.

“Something’s up,” Gavin says.

Pep doesn’t make another sound, already falling back to sleep.

Something’s up, and Gavin’s going to play along, Connor’s wishes be damned. This is his only opportunity to salvage the mission and get close to the Sterns again. It may already be a lost cause, but there’s only one way to find out.

His other cat hops up onto the couch to join him and Pep, nosing the phone off Gavin’s chest so he can claim the spot for himself.

As he brainstorms, Gavin idly scratches under Miss’ chin. He needs a new layer to his cover—if Connor hasn’t already fabricated a story, Gavin can weave something to smooth this all over, but he could just as easily find himself needing to improvise.

When he’s as ready as he’ll ever be, he scoops Miss off his chest, shushing the cat’s grumbling, and places him back down on the cushion beside Pep. The two settle in together, quickly forgetting about Gavin altogether as he extracts himself and goes to get ready.

As he’s leaving the apartment, he types a timed text message to Tina and schedules it to send in four hours. If he gets into trouble, she’ll know to come after him, and if he doesn’t, he’ll cancel it and send a message about his success, instead.

If Gavin gets himself into _serious_ trouble—the permanent kind—Tina has a key to his apartment and won’t let his cats end up at a shelter.

He makes the drive to Belle Isle, wired and itching for a cigarette the whole way across the city. Hands tight around the steering wheel, he takes mental inventory of his hidden weapons and gears himself up for a difficult fight, if that’s how it plays out.

At the tower, Niles Stern greets him in the atrium. “Welcome back, Mr. Reed,” he says in his cold monotone.

“Hey. What is it you need from me?”

“We’ll discuss it upstairs.”

Niles places a hand on his back, directing him towards the elevators with more insistence than Gavin feels is necessary. He responded to the summons without fuss—there’s no need for force.

Passing by the common elevators, Niles takes them to private access. Inside, he presses his thumb into the topmost button that isn’t present in the others, labelled PH for the penthouse. It lights up and the elevator begins its ascent.

In an instant, Gavin knows without a doubt that his cover has been blown. “Wow, what’s with the special treatment?” he asks, fighting to keep his voice level.

Niles doesn’t answer him, not one to play games like Silas would.

The number above the elevator door ticks up and up.

Gavin flexes his wrist, feeling the bind of a knife holster against his forearm, but there’s a camera in the corner of the elevator that stays his hand. This is his best opportunity to take Niles out one-on-one and he has less than a minute to act, but it’ll likely bring the whole security team down on him.

Better to face off against four vampires than an entire tower of innocent, human combatants. Gavin relaxes his hand, and a moment later, the elevator comes to a stop. The doors open directly into a fanciful foyer, including a grand staircase that leads up to the CEO’s office.

Niles leads the way up and takes both door knobs in hand, pushing the double doors wide.

Gavin would sooner call it a museum hall than an office. Paintings adorn the walls and glass cases of historical artifacts are set up in neat rows. To one side, a fire burns in a great fireplace.

Backdropped by tall windows that oversee the nighttime landscape of Detroit is Amanda Stern. She sits in a high-backed chair behind her desk, poised with her hands folded upon her lap, and the full brunt of her attention is locked on Gavin as he and Niles walk the length of her office.

Amanda's eyes are brilliant amber, warm in colour but with a commanding edge to them—equally mesmerising and unsettling. Firelight glows over her radiant skin, glints in the deep red paint of her lips.

At her left side, Silas stands in parade rest, a barely-contained smirk on his face. Once Niles deems them close enough to Amanda’s desk, he raises his hand to stop Gavin in his tracks and then steps away to mirror his older brother on his mother’s right side.

Only Connor is missing.

“So, what’s this really about?” Gavin asks, not seeing the point in beating around the bush. “Can’t be a surprise party, since my birthday isn’t for another couple months.”

Amanda’s hard expression doesn’t shift, as immovable as stone. “Tell me, Mr. Reed, why did you apply for a job here?”

Gavin raises his eyebrows. “Something tells me you already know.”

There’s a beat of silence before Amanda replies. “Indeed.”

She places her hands on the ornate wooden armrests of her chair and pushes herself to her feet, the folds of her gown flowing with her movements as she steps around the desk.

She’s taller than Gavin imagined her. When she comes to stand in front of him, their eyes are level with each other, but Gavin still feels small in her presence.

“A lapse in judgment,” she says. “The first of several.”

Gavin grits his teeth. “What is this, a performance review?”

Lifting a hand, Amanda grasps Gavin’s chin between frigid fingers, the points of her nails pressing into his skin. “Tell me who you take orders from.”

Heart pounding, Gavin blinks at her. “Excuse me?”

“Give me their name,” she orders as she tightens her grip until her index finger cuts into him with a sharp pinch.

Gavin jerks back and Amanda allows it, letting her nails drag scratches into his jawline. Grimacing, Gavin brings a hand to his stinging face, feeling blood against the pads of his palm.

“I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

Amanda’s eyes narrow. She presses her index finger to her thumb, smearing Gavin’s blood between them. “Interesting. You’re telling the truth.”

“No shit.”

“Not just a lapse in judgment, then, but a fool’s errand. You have no idea what world you have stepped into.”

Gavin sneers. “I know everything I need to know.”

“No, you know Caitiff—the unruly rabble, the weak underbelly. You know those who are foolish enough to leave a crime scene, those without the strength of a lineage. What you know does not come close to comparing.”

The Sterns are not the first group of prestige that Gavin has met with, he knows that the older the vampire, the greater a threat they are, and he knows the difference between a job that will take weeks of recon and a job where all he does is lure a mark into a back alley on a whim.

Then again, for all his intent to treat the Sterns with care, here he is in the lion’s den, outnumbered and lacking an advantage.

He swallows thickly, eyes darting away from Amanda’s piercing gaze to land on Silas. He and Niles are still behind Amanda’s desk, at the ready.

“Where’s Connor?” Gavin asks.

“Do not concern yourself with—”

“Where the fuck is he?”

Amanda purses her lips, humming as she considers him.

“What?”

“You are… unexpected,” Amanda says.

The lilt of her voice makes Gavin wet his lips nervously. He drops his hand to his belt at the small of his back, thumb pushing at the hem of his jacket where it hides the grip of his pistol.

Amanda adds, “Useful… with guidance. Go ahead, Mr. Reed, draw your weapon.”

The odds aren’t in his favour. It’s pointless. It’s bait.

Gavin surveys the trio in front of him once again—Niles as unaffected and sturdy as ever, Silas with a mad glint in his eye, Amanda whose very demeanour is a weapon—and knows he lost this fight the moment he stepped foot back into the tower.

Connor warned him, and Gavin wasted his effort.

Behind his back, he takes hold of his pistol. He swings his arm up with practiced fluidity, the safety off by the time he levels the barrel with the center of Amanda Stern’s forehead.

She smiles.

Gavin is done talking, done playing games. Without another thought, he places his finger over the trigger, and—

And nothing. His finger doesn’t move. Won’t move.

Amanda poises her palm in the air next to the gun, hovering an inch away—no contact between them.

When she raises her hand higher still, Gavin’s moves with it, his muscles seizing and blood boiling.

Heat burns in his wrist, tendons rippling with fire. He fights against himself to no avail, forced to watch with wide eyes as his own hand brings his gun up and rests the end of the barrel beneath his chin. Cold metal kisses his skin and he takes in a sharp breath.

“Perhaps now you understand,” Amanda murmurs.

The Sterns have power Gavin has never encountered before, not once in three long years.

If he can’t command his own body, he can’t fight, and if he can’t fight, this is the end. Amanda will have him pull the trigger and blow his own brains out, and she’ll be more concerned about the blood stains on her seventeenth century rug than she will be about taking a human life.

Gavin strains against her supernatural grip, silently pleading for his arm to respond. The searing heat flares once again over his joints—he lets out a stuttered breath as he _burns_ , until he can’t retain the strength to power through.

Only Tina and Hank will know what happened to him. He hopes they don’t try to avenge him.

“Now,” Amanda says, voice sharp. “Hand me the gun.”

Gavin furrows his brow. His finger is still on the trigger, keeping him suspended a second away from death, but Amanda doesn’t command his body to take the shot.

Growing impatient with him, she jerks her hand inward, redoubling the roiling in Gavin’s blood as she puppets his body until she can take the pistol from him with ease. She holds the grip between her thumb and index finger, as if she finds the weapon crude, and holds it out at her side.

Silas steps forward and takes it from her. He smirks at Gavin as he unloads it, spinning the empty gun around in his hand with a flourish before retaking his place behind his mother and Sire.

Amanda curls her hand into a fist.

All the breath leaves Gavin’s lungs. His entire body locks up, muscles twitching as Amanda takes full rein. He drops to his knees with a dull thud, bones creaking.

“Does your scant knowledge of vampiric tradition include blood bonds, Mr. Reed?”

It does. Gavin has seen firsthand what a human under a vampire’s control will do at their master’s behest, and he thinks they’re better off dead. Humans on vampire blood aren’t themselves—they remind Gavin of his days working Narcotics, of people who get hopped up to the point of frenzy, of people shaky and desperate from withdrawal.

He wishes Amanda had forced him to pull the trigger.

Cold fingertips press to his pinched brow, trailing down over his temple in a facsimile of comfort. “I see you are familiar with the concept. Useful, indeed.”

Amanda draws her hand away and brings it to her opposite wrist, scratching into her own skin. The blood that wells there matches the colour of her nail varnish—deep, rich red.

Gavin resigns himself to what happens next. He is immobile, trapped in his own body, disarmed both of his weapon and his agency. Amanda’s blood is the final nail in the coffin.

She cups the back of his head with her free hand and tilts his face up. All he can do is close his eyes and let the blood pass his lips.

The effects don’t set in immediately. Amanda steps away from him, relinquishing her hold on his body, but the damage has been done and Gavin remains where he is, trembling on his knees.

Niles pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and offers it to his mother. As she sits back down behind her desk, she holds the silken cloth to her wrist to stop the flow of blood until it heals over.

“Listen to my sons as you would listen to me,” she tells Gavin. Looking to her left, she addresses Silas next. “Relieve him of personal effects and give him a place to stay, would you, dear?”

The term of endearment makes Silas soften as he gives a nod, bowing his head low with more respect than Gavin has ever seen him exude.

Silas waves a hand at Gavin, gesturing for him to stand. “Come along.”

Gavin’s body moves before he even has a chance to think, now compelled by an entirely new force. His knees crack when he rises to his feet but there’s no discomfort; his body has gone lax with Amanda’s blood taking hold.

Feeling numb, Gavin trails after Silas, following him out of the office.

As they’re taking the steps down into the foyer, Silas says, “Give me your phone. Unlock it for me.”

Gavin does as asked. In the back of his mind, he knows he doesn’t want to, but the thoughts are buried like sand under a rising tide.

Silas chuckles at something he’s reading off the phone’s screen and gives it a tap. “Clever boy knew he was walking into a trap, but was too prideful to stay away…”

The tiniest sneer pulls at Gavin’s upper lip, but he can’t muster the fortitude to remain annoyed for long, can’t fire back like he’s sure he would if things were different.

“No need for that little warning message to your friend,” Silas continues as they step into the elevator. “She has no need to worry. You should be grateful for what mother gave you.”

Gavin opens his mouth and the words he wants to speak get lodged in his throat. He swallows and tries again. “I am grateful.”

That isn’t what he—

His body thrums with energy he hasn’t felt since his twenties, he feels—

wrong—

Young. Rejuvenated. Delighted to be of use to the clan.

“Good,” Silas says. “The two of us will have plenty of time to resolve our differences, now, won’t we?”

From what Gavin has gleaned, routine drinking of a vampire’s blood can keep a human going for—

Silas grins wide, fangs bared. “Welcome to eternity, detective.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) is the mvp!

With the Stern family, Gavin is at peace. He returns to his regular guard duty when the family has no need of him elsewhere and he’s given room and board in the tower so he never has to leave their side. Amanda even arranges for his cats to be brought to him, eliminating any desire he might still have to leave his post. His loyalty and admiration are already hers, but she is gracious all the same.

Silas orbits him, frequently requesting Gavin’s presence in his office just to sit with him while he works and sometimes visiting him on guard duty or in his chambers to talk about whatever is on his mind. Gavin is there when Silas wants him, lending a willing ear to his thoughts.

After a few weeks with the family, he grows weaker—overcome with need—but Amanda soon invites him to her office and allows him another drink of her blood, quelling the agitation in his bones, the noise filling his head.

Even with her blood flowing strong within him, there are fleeting moments when he doesn’t feel quite right. Each morning at dawn, when Gavin’s brushing his teeth over the sink of his adjoined bathroom before bed, he locks eyes with his reflection in the mirror and feels a dissonance.

Like there’s something he’s forgetting. Something at the edges of his mind, just out of reach. His eyes look glazed over. There are ugly wounds decorating his neck where the Sterns have bit and cut into him. He doesn’t look like himself.

There’s no reason to worry about it, though; Gavin pushes the uneasy feeling away as he spits toothpaste into the sink basin, tearing his gaze away from the haunting image of himself, mind plunging into calm once again.

* * *

It takes longer for Niles to warm up to him. When he finally calls on Gavin, Gavin is elated to meet with him and determined to complete the given task perfectly.

For the first time since returning to Belle Isle, Gavin is being trusted to leave it. Niles gives him the address of a motel, the physical description of a man, and the order to leave no evidence.

It’s remarkably easy—Gavin steals an extra room key while the woman working the desk is on a bathroom break, then lets himself into the target’s room without any need for force. The room is bare enough that Gavin could mistake it for a vacancy. There’s no clutter on the bedside table, no suggestion that someone has slept in the bed. Gavin opens the closet and finds it empty, goes to the dresser and finds that empty, too, aside from a Bible resting in the middle.

Whoever this person is, they’re either private or minimalist. Prepared to pack up and go at a moment’s notice, maybe.

Kneeling down on the patchy carpet, Gavin lifts the edge of the bedcovers. A duffel bag has been shoved under the mattress and there’s a rifle duct taped to the underside of the bed frame.

“Gotcha,” Gavin mutters.

After ripping the rifle off the frame, Gavin disassembles it, removing the threat it poses. Niles didn’t entrust him with a weapon upon leaving the tower, and an unsilenced rifle would draw too much attention, anyway—Gavin has other plans for how to carry out his objective.

It isn’t strictly necessary to go through the target’s belongings. Gavin’s only instructions are to eliminate him without being caught. The details don’t matter, but detective instincts kick in, making him seek information and understanding while he still has time to kill.

There are more weapons inside the bag, as well as a folded-up map, an envelope containing a wad of cash, and a bunch of identification cards. Gavin pulls the map open—it depicts the city of Detroit with several locations circled and notes added in black marker, including dates attached to each location that span a period of thirty years.

The locations are centralised to the grittier parts of the city, barring a few outliers, and Gavin recognises a few places he’s gone hunting before. Bars, nightclubs, strip clubs. Places where vampires congregate.

After a moment’s consideration, Gavin gathers the map and envelope in one hand. The rest, he pushes back under the bed, smoothing the edge of the blankets so it looks undisturbed.

He posts up in the bathroom, door closed with a towel bunched up along the base of it to block the light from emanating into the main room. Hopping up onto the counter next to the sink, he settles in for some snooping, curious to know what his target has done to get on the Sterns’ hitlist.

The photo IDs match the description Niles gave him: a man in his forties, dirty-blond hair pulled back into a ponytail, crooked nose that speaks to a past fracture or two, a faint scar along his jaw. There are three different names spread across the cards. All fake, Gavin guesses.

He rhythmically taps a driver’s licence against his other hand, eyes on the bend of the man’s nose. “Kindred spirit, much?”

He sets the bundle aside and returns to the map, continuing to read some of the additional markings that have been added. It’s messy, in shorthand, difficult to read. Returning to the most recent dates, he inspects each in receding order until one catches his eye.

A circle around a building that has been abandoned for a good decade. A date, three years past.

The memory hits—Gavin’s hands tighten over the edges of the map, fingers wrinkling the paper.

A crime scene. The _last_ crime scene. The worst Gavin ever saw.

The crime scene that tore Hank apart at the seams, made all three of them turn their backs on organised law enforcement.

This is Cole Anderson’s dumpsite.

This is the reason _why_ , this is—

The map flutters to the bathroom floor as Gavin drops it, grips his head in both hands, nails digging into his scalp.

He became a hunter that night. It didn’t happen all at once, but that was the turn in the tracks, the shift of the tide. The map lays face-up on the floor, the black mark glaring up at him, stark against the light tones of topography.

Gavin shuts his eyes, blocking it out. There’s a ringing in his ears, a static in the back of his mind, a spark in his nervous system that tells him: _this isn’t how it was supposed to go_.

The sound of a doorknob being turned yanks him out of the fog.

Someone’s here. The target. He has orders. Niles said: leave no evidence.

Gavin has left his fingerprints over all of this, he’ll need to—

First things first. (This is not how it was—) He drops down off the counter and fumbles with his belt as quietly as he can, removing it and wrapping each end around his hands to form a makeshift garrote.

He prods the light switch off before kicking the towel out of the way. Footsteps pass by on the other side of the door, heading into the main room. Gavin listens as the man sighs, followed by the groan of the mattress being sat on.

(He’s a hunter, like Gavin was—is. Is no longer.

Kindred spirit.)

Gavin waits until the mattress creaks again followed by the footsteps going deeper into the room, heading away. Moving quickly, he pulls the bathroom door open and darts out into the short hallway, into the bedroom.

(He has been keeping track of vampire activity. There has been a decline since Gavin, Hank, and Tina joined the fight. Since—

Cole Anderson.)

The hunter is unsuspecting, and Gavin’s strength is boosted by the Stern bloodline. The fight is short-lived; Gavin gets the belt around the man’s throat and grips it tight while the hunter struggles, scratching at his arm and striking over his shoulder.

(This isn't how it's supposed to—)

There's no pain, only a rush of adrenaline and the bonds of Niles' order. He tightens his stranglehold until the hunter runs out of breath, going limp.

The ringing in Gavin’s ears quiets, the static dissipating. Empty tranquility returns. He has done his duty to the Sterns.

As he catches his breath, Gavin stands over the body, belt swinging from the grip of his fingers. He blinks slowly, and when his eyes open again, the body—

Man in his fifties, shaggy grey hair—

He shakes his head, furrows his brows.

Woman in her thirties, black shoulder-length hair—

Gavin squeezes his eyes shut, pinching at the bridge of his nose as he exhales a shaky breath. This is a John Doe, and the Sterns wanted him dead, so he’s dead. There’s no use dwelling.

Turning away from the body, Gavin steps into the bathroom to clean up the map and IDs. Everything he left fingerprints on will need to be disposed of. The job isn’t finished until there’s no evidence left.

Within the hour, he’s back at Belle Isle tower reporting to Niles.

When he’s finished, Niles says, “Satisfactory job, Reed. Dismissed.”

The approval washes over him, draws him deep underwater until he feels weightless and the outside world becomes blissfully muted.

The noise—the confusion—doesn’t return.

* * *

Still, in the coming days, unbidden thoughts still float to the forefront of his mind during the quieter moments, as he’s walking the halls of the tower or lying in bed trying to sleep. He steadfastly avoids thinking of the people his mind conjured in the motel room that night, but there is another person who has been lost to him, someone else Amanda would have him forget.

An age has passed since the night in the garden, but Connor’s absence is a wound that won’t scab over. Every Stern has had use for Gavin, each one except Connor—it makes Gavin feel off-balance, incomplete.

He liked Connor even before he tasted Stern blood.

It isn’t his place to question Amanda about his whereabouts, but curiosity claws at him, relentless.

Not just curiosity—yearning. He thinks of Connor, of the juxtaposition between steel and warmth, of the private moments they had, of golden eyes and long fingers, of the old photograph stashed away in his desk where he thought no one would find it.

So long as the family keeps him busy, he can keep the thoughts at bay, but other nights, he remembers smoking outside of the chantry and feeling like he lost something he never really had in the first place.

“You’re troubled,” Amanda says one evening after Gavin has acted as bodyguard during a gathering of Detroit’s clan leaders. The guests have taken their leave; only Amanda and Gavin remain in the quiet meeting room.

“No,” Gavin rushes to say, “I’m fine, I couldn’t be better.”

If Amanda turns him away for being ungrateful, he doesn’t know what he’ll do. Her blood will wear off and he’ll—

be free—

Be lost, weak. He doesn’t want to be cut loose.

“Gavin,” Amanda chides, cupping his cheek in a cool palm. A heavy ring rests on her middle finger and the cold metal makes him shiver in a way that her skin never does. “It’s written all over your face.”

He closes his eyes, unable to bear her disappointment. “It’s nothing,” he tries.

Amanda brushes her thumb across his cheekbone, still gentle—for now. “It’s written in your blood as well.” Her hand drifts lower to lay over his pulse point, pressed into a healing puncture wound on his neck.

There is no sense in lying to Amanda; the heat of embarrassment flares over Gavin’s face.

“Look at me,” Amanda commands, fingers brushing along his jawline.

Gavin does, waiting with bated breath for her to continue.

“You know there are no secrets between us, now.”

Every aspect of Gavin is Amanda’s, even his thoughts. He nods—just slightly, not enough to dislodge her touch. It was foolish of him to even try hiding something from her.

“You told me not to think about him,” he whispers. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to, I can’t help it.”

Amanda gives him a sad smile as she threads her fingers into the short hairs at the nape of his neck. “You are loyal and headstrong to your core, and that is not a bad thing. It’s part of why I chose to let you live. But Connor isn’t worthy of your loyalty, as he does not have the best interests of the family in mind. Don’t waste your energy on him.”

A small part of his mind, tucked in the back and buried deep, notes that she never speaks of Connor in the past tense or implies that she killed him for whatever transgressions he committed.

(Those transgressions—they’re as much Gavin’s fault as Connor’s, Gavin thinks, he let them get too close, he backed Connor into a corner—)

Connor hasn’t been dealt his final death.

“I understand,” Gavin says. “My allegiance is to you, first and foremost.”

“That’s right.”

She lowers her arm to hook it with Gavin’s, ending the conversation and prompting him to escort her back to her office.

With that, the matter is put to rest.

* * *

Gavin doesn’t think of Connor again. Amanda has set his mind straight, as she always does, allowing him to apply himself fully to his tasks for her and her two sons.

The equilibrium lasts until Amanda is called on by the clan elders for a routine reassembly in their place of origin, across the seas to Europe. By the time Gavin is informed during one of Silas’ visits to his room, her red-eye flight is already booked for the following evening.

“Can’t she just… I don’t know, video conference with them?” Gavin asks as he paces across the center of his room. “I know you probably all pre-date the industrial revolution, but you’ve gotten up on modern technology, haven’t you?”

From where he’s seated on the bench at the end of Gavin’s bed, Silas rolls his eyes. He’s got Miss curled up on his lap, purring as Silas pets along his back. “It’s not that simple. We have traditions and rituals that require ceremony.”

“Like what?”

“The Pyramid,” Silas says. “In our clan, we are all beholden to the elders, in addition to our Sires. Communing with the Council of Seven isn’t something you do over video conference.”

“I never knew vampire politics could be so stuffy.”

“That’s the point of a strict system, you know. It keeps us hidden and protected from the likes of you,” Silas says, shooting Gavin a conspiring grin. “You were the first hunter in decades to get so close without our knowledge.”

Gavin’s movements come to a stop and he faces Silas with a shocked look. “What, seriously?”

“Don’t take it as a compliment. It was an idiotic move on your part to take us on without the backing of a hunter sect, and it would have resulted in your death if mother had been feeling less generous that night.”

Swallowing thickly, Gavin nods. He’d found himself on the Sterns’ doorstep based on a hunch, and while he can’t imagine being without them, now, he knows he’s fortunate to still be alive. “You’re right.”

“Of course I am.”

“I guess the Pyramid thing works,” Gavin says with a shrug. “Even if it still sounds like bullshit bureaucracy, to me.”

Silas stands and releases Miss onto the bed before joining Gavin in the middle of the room, hooking a finger under Gavin’s chin to lift his face up, their eyes locking. “Watch your tone,” he says.

Gavin worries his bottom lip between his teeth. His interactions with Silas are more casual than those he has with Amanda and Niles, causing him to forget his manners. “Sorry.”

“You’re forgiven,” Silas says as he drops his hand to Gavin’s shoulder, slowly running it down his arm. “I know you’re only upset because you’ll miss us.”

“Us?”

“I’ll be accompanying her.”

Two of them, completely unreachable for an extended period of time. Gavin feels his chest tighten. “How long?”

Silas squeezes Gavin’s wrist, fingers against his pulse. “She and I will be gone as long as the Council asks us to be. For the most part, these affairs only take a week or two. We’ll be back before you know it.”

Gavin sincerely doubts it, but he nods. No matter how much he doesn’t like it, it isn’t up to him.

“You and Niles will keep things running smoothly while we’re away,” Silas adds.

His vote of confidence isn’t enough to quell the anxiety coiling in the pit of Gavin’s stomach, but Silas appears unconcerned, and his gaze has dropped to Gavin’s throat, already moving on from the conversation.

“One for the road, darling?” Silas asks.

It isn’t a question Gavin has the freedom to answer in the negative.

Silas steps backwards, tugging Gavin along by his wrist until they’ve reached the edge of the bed. They sit together, Gavin tilting his head to the side as Silas leans into him, one hand still wrapped around his wrist and the other gripping his hair.

The vampire’s wicked grin is the last thing Gavin sees before he closes his eyes, defenses falling.

He barely feels the burn of Silas’ fangs tearing into his neck.

* * *

The next night, Amanda and Silas are gone. With the full responsibility of Stern Incorporated falling on Niles’ shoulders until their return, he’s even less patient with Gavin than usual. Gavin anticipates being left to his own devices in an uncomfortable mix of boredom and anxiety while he goes through rote patrols around the building until he’s tired enough to sleep.

On restless nights, he used to go to the gym or show up at someone’s place for a beer and some distraction, like he did on one of his nights off just a bit ago.

But that’s a past-life, one he’s trying to forget. There’s nothing to be done but wait.

On night five of Amanda and Silas’ absence, Gavin feels so twitchy he doesn’t bother trying to go to bed. As the sun rises, he continues to pace the hallways of Belle Isle tower, counting blocks of cubicles and office doors, just to fill his mind with something simple and straightforward.

It’s early afternoon before he gets any semblance of rest. He wakes only a couple hours later, groggy and worse-off than he was when he first laid down. As the next evening sets in, his mind is frayed and his skin is crawling.

He wonders where exactly Amanda and Silas are. Silas hadn’t been specific, and the unknown variable is an itch under Gavin’s skin.

If he knew the exact location, he could go to them. He doubts Niles would even notice if he walked out of the building, bought himself a plane ticket, and took his own trip overseas.

Amanda wouldn’t approve—if she wanted Gavin with her, she would have arranged for it in the first place—but Gavin is willing to take her anger as long as he can be close to her again. The thought of seeking her out brings him some steadiness, acts as a balm for his jumpy muscles and sore joints.

He just needs the right information, which shouldn’t be a problem for someone of his career background and newfound unrestricted access to the building.

Even without a Stern present, no one stops him from using Amanda’s private elevator, the rest of the staff assuming he's doing exactly what he was told to do. As Gavin lets himself into Amanda’s office, he tells himself this isn't the same as the snooping he did back when he was working against the family instead of for it.

The room is vast and empty without Amanda in it, her presence no longer filling the space between the long walls. The hair at the back of Gavin’s neck stands as he makes his way to her desk and pulls one of the drawers open, in search of her calendar or documentation of expenses for her trip, anything to point him in the right direction.

When the search turns up nothing, he tries the old wooden chest sat beneath the windows, finding it full of records that have gone yellow and brittle with age. Propped up on one side, there's a leather-bound notebook that looks like it belongs in a museum. Standing up straight, Gavin rests back against the side of Amanda's desk and opens the book to start reading.

It's a ledger of both business and personal accounts. Gavin has seen Amanda write notes by hand many times, and the penmanship he sees on the first several pages is not a match. Where her cursive is elegant and neat, gently slanted, the lettering on the old notebook’s pages is blocky and angular. The shaping of the letters is uncanny, not quite a match for the language they’re forming, like they were written by someone more familiar with a different alphabet.

Skipping ahead, Gavin finds a point at which the penmanship switches abruptly to the one he’s familiar with—it isn’t a progression, but a change of hands.

Amanda’s first entry outlines an exchange of assets between herself and someone only listed by their initials: E. K.

A creak sounds from the other end of the room.

Gavin jumps to attention, slamming the notebook shut between his hands, but there’s no time to backpedal—Niles is already marching towards him with a deep scowl cut across his face.

As he closes the distance between them, Niles sweeps a hand into the air, producing a magic tendril of rippling blood from his palm that snaps forward, slashing at Gavin’s hands.

Grimacing, Gavin drops the notebook to the floor and shrinks back. “Jesus fuck—”

Niles lashes out again, this time connecting with his cheek. Wet heat sears across Gavin’s face and his mind goes white, blanked out, breath caught in his throat.

“Explain yourself,” Niles growls.

Gavin cups his cheek, both sides of his hand now slick with blood. “I wasn’t doing anything wrong! I mean, not really…”

Niles’ upper lip pulls in irritation and the bloody tendril poised in the air between them swells. “I have no patience for your prattling. Explain _quickly_.”

“I just wanted to know where Amanda is, specifically. I need to… It’s been almost a fucking week…”

With a groan, Niles draws his hand back, recalling the blood vine out of existence. Shifting from angry to exasperated, he rubs his fingers over the crease of his brow. “It figures that while those who actually care to deal with you are indisposed, I am left here to play babysitter.”

“Hey, come on, man,” Gavin mutters. A wounded pride is the last thing he needs on top of everything else.

Ignoring him, Niles crouches down to retrieve Amanda’s ledger and place it back within the wooden chest.

“I don’t want to be here any more than you want me to be. If you tell me where Amanda is, I can—”

“Enough,” Niles says. “Follow me.”

Gavin glowers, but his shoulders slump as he moves to obey.

Without a single word further, Niles leads him back to the elevator and all the way down to the sub levels. To Gavin's surprise, they end up in the parking garage, where Niles heads for his personal vehicle.

“Wait, what’s happening?”

“Get in the car.”

Best case scenario, Niles will take Gavin to Amanda; worst case scenario, Niles is fed up enough to bleed Gavin dry and dispose of his body in the Detroit River.

(Better off dead.)

Gavin grips the door handle in a tight fist, shaking the thoughts from his mind. He needs to—

get away while he can—

get in the car.

Niles starts the engine as soon as Gavin sits down and pulls the door shut behind him. Silence reigns as Niles pulls out of the lot and makes for the bridge, his intent still a mystery.

Gavin’s eyes flit unwittingly in the direction of the garden hidden between two smaller buildings, to the place where he last saw—

Someone he isn’t supposed to think about.

But Amanda isn’t here to soothe his agitation or admonish him for his traitorous thoughts. He needs to be close to her, but she left him, and now his mind is tied up in knots he can’t untangle.

Remembering the chilled wind from that night in the garden, Gavin shivers and curls into himself, leaning against the car door.

He’s pent up and exhausted in equal measure, pulled taut and strung out. Seeking relief from blinding streetlights, Gavin shuts his eyes and wills himself to relax.

Niles doesn’t take him to the shore of the Detroit River to put him out of his misery—he takes him to the chantry.

The first time Gavin saw the chantry, he’d been considering ways to siege it, ways to destroy it while the Sterns were trapped inside. There’s still a cigarette butt on the curb bordering the property, stamped into the ground and degrading into dust.

Tension builds in Gavin’s temple. He massages his fingertips into his skin, to no avail.

Niles takes the car up a side path to a small, private lot and exits the vehicle. Despite the lack of a direct order, Gavin knows he’s meant to follow; a nervous sweat slicks his palm as he catches up with Niles on the stone steps to the chantry’s front entrance.

Inside, the foyer branches in four directions, the archways at the mouth of each hallway identical in every way, from the carved crown molding to the sconces adorning the papered walls.

Niles takes the middle right and leads Gavin deeper into the building. Before they take another turn, Gavin glances over his shoulder, wondering if it's worth it to run, but finds that the hallway behind them has become a dead end, no archway in sight.

Two turns later, Gavin feels like a rat trapped in a maze.

Finally stopping at a doorway, Niles waves a hand over the knob, causing the lock to click open. Beyond is a tight, spiral staircase that descends into a pitch-black basement.

“Go on,” Niles says.

Gavin swallows. “Is it too late for me to—”

“Yes.”

Niles pushes him down into the staircase, following after him and blocking the escape.

With hesitant steps, Gavin descends. At the bottom of the staircase, a long hallway stretches forth with a series of small chambers lining both sides. Across from them, the hallway ends in a torchlit room, the glow of fire dancing over stone statues that stand vigil around a sarcophagus, intricately carved.

Gavin's mouth drops open at the sight, a chill passing through him. The chantry isn’t a mansion, it’s an expansive mausoleum.

Niles grabs Gavin’s arm and pulls him deeper into the resting place of the dead, their footsteps resounding against the stone floor.

The dread in Gavin’s bones spikes when he picks up on noise from further down the hall—growling, panting, like a caged animal in a state of frenzy.

“What the fuck,” Gavin breathes. “Is that a fucking werewolf—”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

With a flash of magic, Niles opens the iron wrought gate to one of the side chambers. Without a moment's notice, he shoves Gavin through the small gap. “You’ll be fine here until mother’s return. She will sort you out when she has the time.”

Gavin glances around the small room, at the rows of cabinets that house ancient remains, maybe even the ashes of vampires the Stern bloodline has lost over the centuries.

The gate is shut with a loud clang of finality, making Gavin jolt.

“Wait, Niles, you can’t just—”

But Gavin knows Niles _can_ , and from the raised eyebrow Niles directs at him, they’re on the same page.

“As I said, you’ll survive. Mother shouldn’t be gone much longer.”

Niles turns on his heel and is gone, the echoes of his footsteps receding into silence until Gavin is left alone with darkness and dust.

Gavin wraps his hands around the bars of the gate, knowing full well that it’s too secure to be rattled open, but wanting to pour his frustration into it all the same.

The gate doesn’t even budge. A blood-red aura glows over the handle, the only indication that Gavin’s actions have had any impact.

Cursing under his breath, Gavin pushes away from the gate, lifting his hands to run them through his hair. Thanks to Niles—to his own harebrained mistake—he’s stuck here to wallow until Amanda comes home and rescues him. He won’t even have guard duty to keep himself occupied; there’s nothing for him to do but wait amidst the ashes of the dead.

He sits with his back against the outer wall and draws his knees up to his chest, pillowing his arms and chin on top of them.

In the chamber across from him, he sees another tomb through the spaces between the iron gates, just as decorated as the one on display at the end of the hall. Every inch is covered in ornate iconography that Gavin can’t decipher through the darkness. It’s topped off with the figurehead of a young woman laid over its surface. Despite the medium, there’s a softness to her, depicted through her bare feet, simple shift dress, and her long hair splayed out around her. She’s beautiful, even with the dust that has settled on her form and the cobwebs that stretch between her marble limbs and the lid of the sarcophagus.

She has likely been dead for centuries, turned to dust within her coffin, the carving a last bastion of who she was when she was alive—or undead.

Tilting his head downwards, Gavin hides his face in his arms. The mausoleum is cold and musty, a place for dead things.

From further down the hall, the unseen beast throws itself against the stone walls, the dull thud a reminder that Gavin isn’t the only living being imprisoned here.

Dead things and mindless monsters. And Gavin.

Before long, Gavin might fit into one of those two categories, it’s just a matter of what happens first—Amanda’s blood wears off and leaves him to waste away, or the isolation shreds his mind to tattered pieces.

A shiver wracks his body and his joints ache, uncomfortable both in the cold darkness and in the separation from the family.

He needs Amanda to return.

(But doesn’t want her to.)

He can’t survive like this.

(But if he does, he’ll be himself again. Will have control.)

Letting out a harsh breath, Gavin shoves the thoughts away. When he inhales, he does so slowly to a count of five, then holds it to a count of three. He pretends he’s safe at home in the comfort of his own bed, fighting through insomnia.

In to five, hold for three, out to five.

Repeat.

In, hold, out. Again.

He loses time—isn’t sure if he slept or just blanked out—and it’s a blessing. The next time he’s aware of himself again, he’s laid down on his side and his whole body is trembling, sweaty despite the cold.

He wants vampire blood. He wants a cigarette.

Neither good for him, he knows, but one of them is a bad choice instead of something forced upon him.

All he can hear in the darkness is his own teeth chattering and the low growling from his cell neighbour. The two of them are forgotten beings, trapped where no one will think to find them, because they’re part of a world where enemies are more numerous than allies.

Gavin is lucky he had two people at his side when he joined the hunt.

He thinks of the motel room, of their faces where they shouldn't have been, and his chest grows tight. That life he ended wasn’t his enemy. The Sterns made him murder another hunter, and it could have been Tina or Hank.

Either way, there is blood on Gavin’s hands.

He did it for the Sterns, he did as they asked of him.

They made him a murderer.

He’ll either stop caring about it once he’s fed fresh blood, or he’ll break free from Amanda’s spell and be a prisoner to guilt, instead.

Gavin breathes—in for five…

A soothing hand rests on his back, sliding down over his spine and banishing the tension from his muscles.

“Connor,” Gavin whispers at the dusty ground beneath him. “I should’ve fucking listened to you, Connor.”

Connor doesn’t reply.

Gavin knows Connor isn’t really there. Connor is gone, as gone as the hunter Gavin strangled to death. But for now, he lets the phantom touch lull his troubled thoughts, taking him away from the moment, from being alone and coming down from a high.

It’s inevitable that Connor will leave, that Gavin will lose his grip on the fantasy, and suddenly the presence at his back will be gone. He tries not to think about it, but like becoming too aware in a lucid dream, he chases Connor away.

He slams the side of his fist down to the floor, feeling grit scratch into his skin.

It’s uncomfortable, and there’s a certain relief to it, a sharpness that takes precedent to everything else he’s feeling.

Uncurling his fist, Gavin lifts his fingers to his cheek, pressing down over the clotted slash Niles left there. He pushes until the wound reopens, coating his fingertips in blood.

A soft sigh escapes his lips as his mind is harnessed by pain. He relaxes, blindly staring out through the slats of the iron gate.

He’s on the verge of slipping into unconsciousness when there’s movement in his periphery.

Blinking his eyes into focus, Gavin peers into the chamber across from him, to the marble woman laid upon her tomb.

She moves. Cobwebs tear and dust shifts when her stone arm lifts away from the sarcophagus lid.

Heart hammering, Gavin watches with wide eyes as the woman rises from her slumber, dress sliding over her thighs and dust cascading off her body in sheets.

He sits up slowly, arms shaking. He’s hallucinating, has to be. She was _stone_ —she would have had to sleep there for years, maybe decades, to fall into such a state.

The woman grips the side of the sarcophagus, causing the rock to crack and crumble under her hand as she leverages herself off her perch to stand on her bare feet. Dust continues to fall away from her like snakeskin, revealing muted colour to her dress, bringing life to her hair and features.

She swipes the grime out of her eyes, then opens them.

They’re so pale they’re almost white.

They hone in on Gavin—on the ooze of fresh blood rolling down his face—and a deep growl rises from her throat.

If Gavin had to hazard a guess, he’s the first source of human blood she’s encountered in years.

Cold sweat gathers at his hairline as they watch each other through the gates that divide them, only two sets of iron bars keeping her at bay.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake), for making this chapter the best it could be :)

The vampire steps forward, her joints creaking from disuse.

The magically-sealed gate gives her pause, causing her to go as still as a statue once again as she watches the blood-red glow undulate over the lock keeping her imprisoned. Face morphing into rage, she sneers at it, but quickly dismisses it to step aside, out of Gavin’s view.

Half terrified and half curious, Gavin places a balancing hand on the wall of burial cabinets and heaves himself up on his feet, craning his neck to catch sight of the woman tucked into the corner of her chamber. He watches, enrapt, as she draws a fist back, then slams it straight into the wall.

The quiet of the mausoleum breaks with the smash of stone. Gavin turns his face away from the blast, coughs when rock dust swirls in the air.

Through the cloud, the vampire emerges, toeing her way around debris. She steps up to the gate of Gavin’s chamber, pale eyes boring into him.

When she tries to speak, her voice cracks, as brittle as the rock beneath her bare feet.

She lifts her wrist to her mouth and sinks her fangs into her own flesh, causing blood to roll down her chin and forearm, to drip onto the floor. She licks her lips, clears her whetted throat, and speaks.

“I smell her on you.”

Gavin leans heavier into the burial cabinets, knees weak. “Amanda?”

The vampire snarls, bloody fangs bared. “Have you broken free?”

Gavin’s gaze drops to the lock of the iron wrought gate.

“Not there,” the vampire says, shaking her head. She points a dusty finger at her temple. “Up here.”

Gavin doesn’t know—has been too out of his mind to gather himself—but more than anything, he feels sore and exhausted, not hazy and desperate. He wants to sleep. Wants time to sort out the wreckage his life has fallen into.

“I think so. Who are you?”

“The enemy of your enemy,” the woman says. “You may call me Chloe.”

Her words make him sag with relief. Not too long ago, Gavin would have balked at finding an ally in a vampire, even in the context of a mutual enemy, but he has learned that vampires are as varied as humans. He knows some are good, some are caring. Some smile with happiness instead of smirk with malice, some touch to connect instead of to control.

Grief feels like cold fingers squeezing around his heart. Gavin bows his head, fights against the prickle at the corner of his eyes.

Chloe moves closer to the gate, leaning down to catch his attention. “Do not falter. You aren’t safe yet.”

“Yeah, because it’s just that fucking easy.”

“Stand against the far wall. Shield yourself.”

“You aren’t going to… bite me, are you?”

“It’s hardly worth it; one human’s blood will not sustain me. I will attend to that later. Please stand back.”

Gavin shuffles backwards into the wall, blocking his face with his arm.

A second later, the wall of his burial chamber blasts open in a shower of rocks, and Chloe steps through the gap, kicking chunks of stone out the way.

True to her word, she keeps her distance save for an offered hand. “Come.”

Seeing no reason not to, Gavin accepts. Together they duck out of the chamber, Chloe poising her hand over Gavin’s head to block any loose pieces of stone from falling on him.

“That’s… one hell of a jailbreak,” Gavin says. “How long were you in there? Did you seriously sleep for like a decade?”

“Longer, I would guess. For someone as old as I, a year and a decade are near synonymous. The passage of time matters little.”

“Jesus. What happened?”

Chloe casts a furtive glance at the sarcophagus beyond the iron gate. “A long existence makes us weary, and torpor calls. I would not leave his side. Amanda was opportunistic.”

Before Gavin can question further, Chloe steps deeper into the mausoleum, lamplight flickering around her form as she walks towards the third resident of the burial chambers.

Gavin calls after her. “I wouldn’t, if I were you… whatever’s down there has done nothing but growl since I got here.”

Ignoring him, Chloe proceeds, stopping in front of a gate. Her face falls as she lays a hand on the iron bars, and her voice is mournful when she speaks. “Oh, Connor.”

Gavin’s blood runs cold.

“What did you say?” he wheezes through a tight throat.

Chloe looks down the hall at him, pale eyes considering him, but she doesn’t answer.

“What the fuck did you fucking—”

Words snagged, Gavin rushes towards her, sidling in front of her at the chamber gate.

Glaring back at him with red, glazed eyes is Connor. He’s hunched over, his hands clawed like a wild animal stood on its hind legs. His hair, usually so neat except for the stray bit of bangs, is in a tangle. The sleeves of his shirt have been rolled up to his elbows, showing bloody welts crisscrossed over his forearms like the one on Gavin’s cheek, but running far deeper.

His lips pull into a snarl as he lunges, slamming both of his blood-covered palms against the gate. He attacks it as he has attacked it over and over again, bashing himself against a force that won’t snap, too far gone to process that all he’s doing is hurting himself.

The air feels too thin—Gavin’s throat burns as he tries to keep his breath even. “What did she do to him?”

Chloe lays a hand on his shoulder, urging him away from the gate, but he shrugs her off. “He is injured and needs blood to heal, from whatever source he can manage. The fury is a state of self-preservation, but one that comes with considerable risk.”

Amanda forced Connor to this point, and Gavin is going to kill her.

“Let him out.”

“No.”

Gavin whirls around on Chloe. “Why the fuck not?”

Chloe’s gaze flickers down the hall at the burial chamber she slept in. “You are not the only one with emotional ties in this place. We will return for them when there is something practical to be done.”

Whoever lies in the sarcophagus Chloe guarded all these years isn’t frenzied, isn’t out of their mind with pain and hunger. They can wait a little while longer, but Gavin can’t turn his back on Connor when Connor needs him, when Gavin finally knows what happened to him after the night in the garden.

“I’m not leaving him here. If he needs blood, I’ve got it.”

Chloe frowns, but Gavin reads the expression as thoughtful rather than displeased.

Still, she isn’t swayed. “He isn’t in control. He would tear you apart.”

If Connor were in his right mind, he would never intentionally hurt Gavin. Connor went to great lengths to put Gavin out of harm’s way and it landed him here, hurt and feral, because he did so by defying his Sire. Right now, he may not have the agency to stop himself, but Gavin still trusts him. He trusts Connor to come back to himself before it’s too late. Even if he doesn't, they have Chloe.

“Get ready to play interference, then,” Gavin says, his skin prickling with nervous anticipation. “Now let him out.”

Next to him, Chloe is as still as the statue Gavin mistook her for, carved from marble—her chest doesn’t rise or fall, even to mimic humanity, and she doesn’t blink or shift her weight or anything that would make her look alive. She’s old. Older than any vampire Gavin has ever met.

Behind the iron wrought gate, Connor snaps his fangs at them and rams his shoulder against the barrier.

Chloe’s jaw tightens, a minuscule movement that contains a multitude.

“If I tell you to run,” she says, “you listen. You go.”

“Yeah, sure,” Gavin agrees.

“With conviction.”

“Fuck’s sake… fine, alright, if you tell me to go, I go.”

Chloe nods, then pushes Gavin to the side, around the corner into the grand chamber at the end of the hall. Once Gavin is safe in cover, she once again makes a fist and sends it into the wall of stone.

The crumbling of the rock hasn’t had time to settle before Gavin hears the impact of someone being thrown into the burial cabinets, hears the roar of Connor’s renewed vigour at having an opponent he can actually reach.

Gavin steps around the corner in time to watch Connor get thrown backwards out of the chamber, hard enough to crack the opposite wall that catches him. Chloe climbs through the opening after him, still unruffled.

With a low growl, Connor’s head snaps to the side, forgetting Chloe as his eyes lock on Gavin.

“Connor—”

Pushing away from the cracked wall, Connor launches forward, bloody fingers swiping at Gavin.

Chloe catches him with an arm across his sternum, trapping him against her as he snarls, gnashes his teeth, and claws at the air in vain.

“Connor, c’mon,” Gavin mutters.

It’s evident that Connor isn’t hearing him, not in a way that matters. Heart thudding wildly in his chest, Gavin backs up a step, making contact with the end of the grand sarcophagus and leaning against the unyielding stone.

Chloe grabs one of Connor’s wrists in her free hand, drawing it back down to his side, effortlessly overpowering him. “He has no use for your words.”

After his stay with the Sterns, Gavin is no stranger to a vampire’s bite, but not from a vampire who’s out of control and doesn’t have the presence of mind to stop before Gavin goes cold. Silas’ bites would leave Gavin faint, but conscious and cognizant. Amanda would scratch him open and collect his blood in a glass, too dignified to make a mess by sinking her fangs into him.

Now that he can think clearly, Gavin despises them both.

No part of him despises Connor.

“Bring it on, then.”

Chloe purses her lips but gives a single nod before releasing Connor from her hold.

Connor moves in a blur, is upon Gavin in half a second, bowling into him with such force that he bends backwards, elbows slamming against the lid of the sarcophagus. Teeth sink into his neck and bloody fingers scrabble at his shoulders, trapping him in place from every point of connection between them.

The world narrows to the blood rush in his ears, to the sharp twinge in his neck, to Connor's fingers digging into him and holding him in place. Gavin breathes in stuttered starts and stops, mind fragmenting into mismatched imprints of pain and desire, of fear and trust.

The burn becomes manageable before long—maybe he’s used to it, maybe it’s because it’s Connor. Gavin fumbles one hand up to cup the back of Connor’s head, fingers buried in his dishevelled hair, pairing gentle touches with Connor’s rough ones.

In response, Connor slides his palm up the curve of Gavin’s shoulder to the opposite side of his neck, thumb pressing into the hollow of Gavin’s throat. His grip is firm, but not harsh. Gavin shivers, letting his head fall back and his eyes close.

Connor is in there, somewhere. Waking up.

Rivulets of blood roll down Gavin’s neck and Connor chases them with his tongue, breath hot against Gavin’s skin.

Groaning, Gavin curls his fingers tighter in Connor’s hair. His limbs grow weak and heavy, but there’s no risk of him losing his balance with Connor pressing him firmly into place, so he hangs on as much as he can and submits himself to Connor’s strength.

He registers Chloe’s voice in the background but can’t make out the words through the fog.

He feels the points of Connor’s fangs resting against his neck, caught between biting down again and drawing away.

“Connor,” Gavin mumbles.

The weight lifts off his chest in an instant, causing his arms to fall limp at his sides as he struggles to raise his eyelids. He catches sight of Chloe wrestling Connor away from him.

Connor’s eyes are clearer, glowing their usual golden hue under the lamplight. His lips are drenched in Gavin’s blood and he scowls at being manhandled, but his effort to grab for Gavin again is weak, half-hearted, not so frantic.

Gavin’s knees give out and he slips down the end of the sarcophagus, meeting the stone floor with a grimace.

“No—” a faraway voice whispers.

It takes a second for Gavin to recognise it as Connor’s. Gavin forces a faint smile onto his face. “Hey.”

Connor’s outstretched hand trembles, hovering in the air between them, unsure. His bloody lips quiver.

Reality is crashing into him. Gavin won’t let him fall.

“Let ‘im go, Chloe.”

She sighs, and Gavin’s hazy mind notes with amusement that she must be completely exasperated with him to bother with such a human gesture, but she does as asked.

This time, Connor is hesitant—slow and tentative—as he approaches Gavin. He crouches down between Gavin’s knees and reaches out in a false start before finding the confidence to make contact. He lays a hand on Gavin’s neck, stopping the flow of blood still welling over the fang wounds.

“Gavin… Gavin, I—”

Connor chokes on the words, bowing his head.

Gavin grabs him by the front of his blood-stained shirt and uses the last of his strength to pull Connor into him, bringing them flush together. “It’s fine, ‘m fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Didn’t do anything wrong.”

Saying nothing else, Connor presses his face into Gavin’s shoulder, his disbelief evident.

“Relax,” Gavin tells him, though he already knows it won’t be enough to curtail all that has shifted around them.

He wants to say more, but exhaustion pulls on him until he can’t seem to form words or thoughts. Instead, he loops an arm around Connor’s shoulders, communicating that he doesn’t want Connor to leave.

Somewhere to his right, Chloe says, “Rest now.”

Gavin does.

* * *

He wakes up more clear-headed than he has in a long time. Gone is the vertigo of a divided mind, replaced with a gentle consciousness paired with pillows and soft blankets instead of the hard stone of the mausoleum floor. It’s still dark and quiet, but not in the same way as the hall of the dead that left a permanent chill in his bones.

As he yawns, the working of his throat sends a sharp pang through his neck—if he still had vampire blood coursing through his veins, it would only be the dull irritation that comes from a healing scab rather than the pain of a fresh wound, but Gavin would take human healing and agency over enhanced constitution and servitude. There’s no cracking or flaking of dried blood, though, and Gavin raises a hand to his tender neck to find the mess has been washed away.

Opening his eyes, he surveys the room. It looks like a fancy hotel, all plush and impersonal. The wallpaper matches the hallways of the chantry’s ground floor, which tells him their escape from the tomb hasn’t taken them far, that they aren’t much safer than they were. He supposes they didn’t have much choice.

In the corner, a figure sits in a reading chair, lit only by what light is filtering in through the crack of the door.

Chloe’s unblinking eyes are on him, but she’s so still Gavin can’t tell if she’s awake. She looks better than when Gavin last saw her, cleaned up enough to look almost human, if not for her eerie eyes and uncanny air.

Gavin clears his throat.

She finally moves, reaching for the table at her side to pull the lamp chain. A warm glow fills the room. “Good afternoon.”

Unaccustomed to bright light, Gavin turns his face into his pillow. “’m still alive, huh.”

“Yes.”

“Where’s Connor?”

Chloe doesn’t answer right away. Gavin hears the sound of her standing from the chair and crossing the room, her footsteps changing timbre when she steps into the adjoining kitchenette.

By the time she returns with a bottle of orange juice, Gavin’s eyes have adjusted. He pushes himself up against the bed’s headboard to accept the drink.

“Didn’t know vampires stocked OJ. Next you’ll be giving me digestive cookies.”

“There are no cookies.”

“It was a joke, Chloe.”

She makes a faint noise of acknowledgement, unimpressed.

“So, Connor?” Gavin prompts.

“Sulking. But he has come to check on you often and he is doing well, physically.”

Exhaling a long breath, Gavin sags deeper into his pillows as he uncaps the bottle of juice. His body aches; the more awake he becomes, the more he can feel a storm percolating in the back of his mind, waiting to roll in now that the situation has come to a lull.

He really got himself into a mess, a larger mess than he ever thought possible when he first got into hunting. The last time he made contact with Hank or Tina was over a month ago, he’s sure. The past few weeks are a blur, like a completely different version of him was walking around in his skin while he watched from behind a sheet of foggy glass, but he knows it has been long enough that they’re probably annoyed with him.

Tina will chew him out for being a lone wolf and getting in too deep without asking for help, and Hank will drag a hand down his weathered face, acting aggrieved when the truth is, he was scared to lose someone else he cares about.

Even when they get on his case, there’s always an undercurrent that says _we’re in this together_.

Gavin’s next mouthful of juice burns on the way down. He pushes away the thoughts of his friends, resolutely focusing on downing the rest of the drink.

“Feeling better already,” he tells Chloe, aiming for nonchalance. “What’s our next move?”

“We wait for the sun to go down. You and Connor go somewhere safe while I wake Elijah.”

“Your Sire? Wait, Elijah… E. K.?”

Chloe’s brow furrows. “Yes.”

“Huh. Hostile takeover.”

“Did Amanda tell you?”

“Nah,” Gavin says. “I went digging. My reasons varied, but digging is what I do.”

Chloe doesn’t know anything about Gavin beyond the surface level, and Gavin doesn’t know how much Connor knows, either. The truth behind Gavin’s intentions with the Sterns is a lit match—one better off dealt with before the flame builds.

“I’m a hunter. Or… I was a hunter.”

The only reaction he gets from Chloe is a single nod.

“That’s it?”

“I have met many hunters. I know your manner, your smell—gun oil, mountain ash, kerosene and smoke.”

Gavin grimaces. “That’s creepy.”

A clicking sound from the other side of the room makes them both turn.

Connor has a tight grip on the doorknob, only stepping halfway into the room while the right side of his face remains obscured from view, cast in shadow.

“It’s true, then,” he says, no question in his inflection. “My brothers suspected, but I didn’t want to believe them. You didn’t talk to me like you were… planning something.”

“It’s a two-way street. You didn’t talk to me like a monster,” Gavin replies. “I had plans, and you blew them straight out of the water.”

Nothing Connor did made him seem like a monster; not until the crypt, not until Gavin saw him out of his mind, covered in blood and ready to kill. Reconciling these two versions of Connor doesn’t come naturally—Gavin had it in his head that Connor was different, and he _is_ , but he was fooling himself into thinking there was no beast lurking under the surface. Connor is a vampire just as dangerous as the rest of his family. The difference is in how he wields that power.

Connor shifts his weight forward, leaning more into the room until Gavin can see his face properly. He’s cleaned up just like Gavin and Chloe, in a fresh shirt with the sleeves buttoned closed around his wrists. Gavin hopes his arms have healed.

None of them speak.

The sight of Connor now isn’t the same as laying eyes on him in the mausoleum—he’s himself again, and Gavin isn’t on the verge of passing out. The immediate danger has come to a stop for the time being, allowing Gavin to just _see_ him, to wrap his mind around the fact that they’ve found each other again, that their situations are improving, all things considered.

Gavin missed him. Missed the casual conversations, the smiles, the mere proximity of being just outside Connor’s door if Connor needed him. He thought he’d lost Connor, thought they’d never see each other again.

He certainly never thought it would happen the way it did. Unconsciously, Gavin rubs a hand over his neck, wincing as the calloused pads of his palm agitate the raw punctures.

Connor’s gaze follows the action and the tip of his tongue darts out to wet his lips, surely scraping against the fangs that caused the wound.

Gavin startles when the empty orange juice bottle is plucked from his grasp. Chloe walks away from him with the bottle in hand, drifting towards the door. She pulls it the rest of the way open, robbing Connor of his strategic position behind cover.

“I will go,” she says as she slips past him.

Before she turns out of view, Connor is propelled into the room, his eyes bugging out in shock. He glances over his shoulder, but Chloe has already disappeared, leaving them alone.

Gavin throws the blankets off his legs and stands up, catching himself with a hand on the mattress when his legs wobble.

“Careful,” Connor says, stepping towards him with his hands raised as if to catch Gavin if he falls.

“I’m good. Just getting my bearings.”

“You almost died,” Connor spits with sudden heat, but he isn’t looking at Gavin, isn’t directing his anger anywhere but inward.

Gavin moves forward in tentative steps, finding his balance. “There’s a lot of that going around. You alright?”

“Am I—” Connor starts incredulously. “I’m fine.”

“You’re a garbage liar.”

“And you’re an idiot. I told you, I tried to… to keep you away from all this—”

“Sure, some mistakes might’ve been made…”

Connor squeezes his eyes shut and turns his back to Gavin, shoulders hunched.

Sighing, Gavin steps into his space, laying his hand on Connor’s back. “It happened the way it happened. We’ve got other things to tackle, now.”

“I didn’t want you caught in the middle of this. I didn’t want to be the cause of you getting hurt,” Connor says, voice faint. “I didn’t want you to see me… like that.”

Gavin makes a neutral dismissive noise. He wishes Connor would turn around and look at him. “I’ve seen worse; we all wake up on the wrong side of the bed sometimes. Just one of those days.”

“ _Gavin_.”

“What?”

“I don’t know how you can just blow past it.”

“Believe me, that’s not what I’m doing.”

“Then why are you acting so… why are you acting like none of it…” Connor cuts himself off with a bewildered noise, sounding strangled.

Gavin huffs a light breath. “What other choice do we have? Shit’s fucked. I’m doing my best, here.”

“By cracking jokes?”

“Never said my best was actually any good, did I? I’m rocking the participation award. Making it through on sheer determination—or stubbornness, depends who you ask.”

There’s a beat of silence before Connor’s shoulders quiver. He ducks his head, burying his face in his hands, leaving Gavin to frantically scramble for words more suited to comfort, until—

Connor laughs. It comes in quick, muffled bursts, like he’s ashamed and trying to stop.

Gavin grabs his arm and turns him around, pulling his hands away from his face to reveal a full view of Connor’s smile and crinkled eyes. He looks like a completely different person.

“Holy shit,” Gavin breathes.

“Sorry,” Connor gasps, trying to wrestle his arm from Gavin’s hold.

Gavin lets him go, only to cup his face in his hands instead, dissuading him from hiding. “Don’t you dare apologise.”

“This isn’t the time for childishness. It wasn’t even that funny, I don’t know why I—”

“Everyone’s a critic,” Gavin says with mock hurt, but the effect is ruined by his need to grin. “After we get through this, my new mission in life is to make you laugh as often as possible.”

Connor’s chuckles peter out as his jaw goes lax, mouth hanging open. He blinks his eyes wide.

Childishness, he called it. Gavin buries a scoff, not wanting to startle Connor further. The better part of two centuries with Amanda Stern’s parentage hasn’t been kind to him. If Gavin has his way, that era of Connor’s existence is over.

They need to talk about it—need to make plans, something better than running and hiding.

It isn’t just Amanda they have to contend with, but both of Connor’s brothers, and Gavin already knows that Connor hasn’t given up on them despite how far they’ve strayed. Gavin wouldn’t turn down the chance to deal Silas a bit of hurt, and there’s no love lost with Niles, either, but Connor will be of a different mind.

Catching the shift in Gavin’s focus, Connor sobers, pursing his lips.

Gavin drops his hands, unsure of what else to do with them.

The air between them becomes stilted. Connor says, “So when you applied for a job with us, it was with the intention of wiping us out.”

Having Connor lay out like that makes Gavin’s stomach twist into knots. “Yeah.”

“And now?”

And now it’s personal. But complicated. “Amanda has to go.”

“Agreed,” Connor says, voice steady and cold.

Gavin runs a hand through his hair, feeling like he’s navigating a minefield. “Connor… Niles was the one who locked me in the mausoleum. He knew you were there too. He _knew_ , and he just… shoved me into one of the chambers and walked away.”

Connor shuts his eyes again, forehead creased. “He was just—”

“Abandoning you to that state? Con, c’mon.”

“They do as Amanda tells them to. Once she’s gone, it’ll be different.”

Gavin crosses his arms, scowling as Connor continues to avoid his eyes. “If they’re so bound by the blood bond, what about you, huh? You’re not like them. Why’s that?”

As soon as the question has left his mouth, he thinks of the photograph, the relic that started him down the path of believing there was more to Connor than a bloodthirsty monster.

“You never completely let go of your old life, did you,” he says. “But they did.”

“They… had an easier time adjusting.”

To Gavin, that just means Connor is stronger, more steadfast in his morality. Still, a seed of doubt has been planted, and he thinks of how quickly he fell to Amanda’s thrall, thinks of what Silas told him about their strict bloodline.

Maybe he’s being unfair, and Connor’s brothers are caught up in the same chains Gavin was. If so, his payback isn’t the most important thing on the line.

“Okay,” Gavin says, even though his personal stake in the matter makes him want to keep arguing. “It’s your call. I’ll follow your lead.”

The lines of Connor’s face smooth out as he locks eyes with Gavin, tension rolling out of him. “Thank you. That means a lot, after what they must have put you through.”

Gavin grimaces, grating at the reminder of Silas’ smarmy manipulation and Niles’ cold lethality. But they’re Connor’s brothers, and if Connor has hope for them to turn around, Gavin can at least try to stow his rage.

“Just don’t ask me to get buddy-buddy with them and we’ll be fine.”

Connor offers him a soft smile. “Of course not, I understand there is damage to be repaired before that could be possible.” His smile turns sad. “Assuming I can even help them in the first place. This is all hypothetical; they may not be cooperative.”

Gavin scratches the back of his neck. “Can’t help you there. I didn’t know them before…” He waves his hand in the air. “Everything.”

“They’re different people,” Connor says as he hugs his arms around himself. “I don’t know how much sway our human lives have anymore.”

If a similar situation were to happen with Tina or Hank, Gavin doesn’t know what he’d do to bring them back. Hank isn’t the same person he was three years ago, but none of them truly are—the three of them changed together and their jagged pieces still fit. Gavin does know that if they had discovered what happened to him, they would have gone to war for him.

After Cole, an unspoken agreement passed through the three of them. Leave the DPD together, spot each other on the hunt when necessary, look after each other’s affairs if the worst should pass.

“We’ll do what we can to save them,” Gavin says.

Smile returning in full force, Connor places his hand on Gavin’s bicep, squeezing gently in thanks.

Gavin clears his throat with a little cough, face heating up. “Guess that’s settled then. We’ll wait for Chloe to get old man Elijah out of bed and then figure something out together.”

Connor sighs. “It won’t be an easy fight. It’ll be dangerous; maybe you should stay—”

“Nope,” Gavin interrupts. “Nope, I gotta see this through. Will it really be that bad? You’ve seen Chloe, haven’t you?”

“I have, and Elijah as well. He and Amanda were allies long before she turned me and my brothers. The difficult part will be fending off Silas and Niles without hurting them. They will defend Amanda until their final deaths, which are inevitable against a vampire of Elijah’s age and likelihood to take umbrage. I can’t speak to his willingness to spare anyone who gets in his way.”

Gavin frowns; Elijah sounds less like an ally, more like a wildcard. “How old?”

“His Sire was one of the Antediluvians. He was turned in the wake of the Great Flood.”

No matter how much Gavin wracks his brain for an alternative, he can’t think of any historical event Connor might be referring to other than the biblical flood. “That’s insane.”

Connor raises his eyebrows. “You’re a vampire hunter, Gavin. Does the seemingly impossible still surprise you?”

Until the Sterns, being a vampire hunter was straightforward, once he got past the initial hurdle. One horrific murder that diverted his path and opened him up to a whole other world fit into the shadows of the mundane. Until the Sterns, he doubts he ran into any vampires older than a century or two.

“Yeah, well, it’s a spectrum. And a biblical vampire is insane.”

Connor shakes his head, a lopsided grin on his lips. “You’ll see for yourself, soon, I expect.” 

“Guess so. But I’m not ready for a fight, either way. I need to go home and gear up.”

The smile on Connor’s face drops. “You want to leave? Alone?”

“If I go up against your family like this, it’s going to turn out even worse than it did last time. I’ll be back before the sun sets; nothing’s going to happen.”

Connor’s jaw tightens but he nods.

His worry is evident—Gavin can’t help but wonder what he ever did to make Connor care enough to be so concerned for him, even back at the beginning when they both kept secrets from one another.

“Seriously,” he says, voice lowered, intimate, “nothing to worry about while the sun is up. I’ll be back before you know it.”

“You better be,” Connor throws back.

Gavin grins. “You know I’m not easy to get rid of.”

The way Connor looks at him, then—expression relaxed and open, eyes gentle but intense as they bore into Gavin’s—makes him feel more than just seen, makes him feel laid bare. Connor is still hearing what Gavin isn’t saying aloud, he understands what Gavin truly means when he says he’ll come back, that he’ll join the fight.

As much as Gavin aches to confirm it, to lean into Connor and say more without words, he’ll never be able to pull himself away if he gives in now. He forces himself to step aside, to turn towards the door before he wastes any more daylight. Connor doesn’t stop him—is silent, simply watching him go.

Stepping out into the hallway, Gavin finds it looking the same way it did while Niles led him into the mausoleum basement. A short distance away, Chloe is standing in front of a painting on the wall, gazing up at it with great disinterest.

“Let me guess, you’ve seen it once, you’ve seen it a thousand times?” Gavin asks.

Chloe hums in agreement. “Amanda purchased it in 1743.”

“Cool, thanks for the history lesson,” he deadpans. “Can you show me how the fuck to get out of here? I need to—”

“I’m aware. This way.”

Gavin grumbles under his breath as he catches up with her. “Fucking snooping vampires.”

“I would have overheard you no matter how far away I went,” Chloe says, unrepentant. “You had best get used to a lack of privacy.”

“What does that mean?” They round a single corner and the archway to the front hall comes into view at the end of the hall. “That was quick… a lot quicker than it was on the way in.”

“I understand you and Connor have bonded and will remain close. As for the building’s layout, it is far simpler than its magic suggests.”

Something flutters in the pit of Gavin’s stomach. He forcibly avoids thinking about why. “Talking to you is a bad trip.”

They arrive at the archway and Chloe stops, turning to face Gavin. She blinks—slow and purposeful—giving him a close-lipped smile. “I’ve enjoyed your company immensely.”

Gavin narrows his eyes. “I can’t tell if you’re bullshitting me or not.”

“I haven’t cared to ‘bullshit’ since I was 3000 years old.”

Groaning, Gavin walks away from her. “Whatever. See you in a couple hours.”

“Travel safe.”

Gavin waves a hand at her before pushing through the door into the sunlit afternoon.

On the front steps of the Detroit Chantry, Gavin stops and turns his face up to the sky, soaking in the warmth. The light burns his eyes even through his eyelids but he doesn’t care, doesn’t mind when it makes tears build up at the corners.

A warm breeze rustles around him and he breathes in the fresh air. Distantly, he hears the chirping and singing of birds.

He has never appreciated it as much as he does now, after weeks of a nocturnal existence amongst vampires.

Unbidden, Chloe’s words float back into his mind. _Had best get used to it_.

She isn’t wrong about him and Connor—Gavin knows he’s falling deep, and once he falls, his only options are to crash or be caught.

Connor will catch him, will draw him into the darkness, and Gavin will let him.

Ducking his head and lifting a hand to shield his eyes, Gavin steps down onto the path leading away from the chantry, heading home.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> as always, big thanks to my wonderful beta, [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake).

With his wallet, keys, and phone still locked away somewhere on Belle Isle, Gavin has to buzz one of his neighbours to open the foyer door for him, admitting him into his apartment building. The superintendent makes it clear that Gavin is being a pain in their back, but gets him temporarily set up all the same.

Gavin has been away so long that the apartment feels foreign. His cats aren’t there to greet him by weaving between his legs and meowing until he pays attention to them. The cramped rooms and muted décor are a far cry from the atmosphere of Belle Isle. Gavin never had the chance to realise how much he missed the comfort of his own space.

He showers, eats some stale cereal, changes into fresh clothes, and gathers what he needs in a rush, arming himself with his favourite pair of high calibre desert eagles. He tries not to think about how useless his pistol was the night he willingly walked into Amanda’s trap, thinking he had a shot of meeting her with equal force. He’ll have backup this time, enough that Amanda won’t get an easy shot at him.

As he returns to the chantry with the sun setting, Chloe leaves with the moon rising, off to a blood bank that sells special stock under the table.

There’s nothing to do but wait; Connor and Gavin end up watching her leave from the chantry’s front steps until she disappears into the early evening darkness.

“How long have you lived here?” Gavin asks as he scans the trees that surround the building, obscuring the rest of the city from view.

Connor wanders to the edge of the steps where a limestone pillar connects the porch to the awning above, ghosting his fingers along a leaf of ivy that hangs in the balance.

“Only a few decades,” he says. He releases the leaf and it falls flat over the rest of the vine.

“Only,” Gavin repeats with a chuckle. “You say that like a few decades is nothing.”

Connor makes his way back to Gavin’s side, hands clasped at the small of his back. “I’m not old enough for a decade to be meaningless, but…”

A few decades amount to Gavin’s entire life. If he’s lucky, a few decades could be all he has left. In the grand scheme of things, Gavin will come and go in the blink of Connor’s eye.

“Must be weird, seeing the world shift around you like that, barely recognisable as what it was at the start,” he says to the white steps that stretch out in front of them.

“I got used to it.”

Connor descends to the cobblestone pathway, looking up at the stars. Gavin watches him, watches the calm lines of his face contoured by moonlight.

Drawn to close the distance, Gavin follows after him, stopping at his side. This time when he turns his face up to the sky, he’s met with constellations, bright and numerous this far away from the inner city’s light pollution. Having lived in big cities all his life—and lacking the opportunity to travel outside of moving and work engagements—Gavin is unused to seeing so many white dots littering the sky.

He wonders if Connor wanted this existence or if Amanda chose him and his brothers without their consent—wonders if Connor ever misses the sun.

Silence stretches between them, both locked in thought. In the quiet, Gavin struggles not to predict the possible outcomes of the upcoming fight.

Chloe is still an ace up their sleeves, but worst-case scenarios continue cropping up in the forefront of Gavin’s mind. If all goes wrong, facing Amanda could be the end of the line, by way of death or by way of a blood bond he won’t escape this time, making it the first night of the rest of his life under her control. Bile burns in Gavin’s throat; he drops his hand to his belt holster, fingers coasting over the grip of his pistol.

Some time later, Chloe returns, her bag full to the brim with blood packs. Passing by them without a word, she disappears deep into the chantry to wake her Sire.

Gavin and Connor are left to continue waiting, still standing in front of the chantry steps.

It won’t be long now. Gavin is both grateful and agitated, wanting the distraction of the fight, but nervous about how it’ll play out. If they’re lucky, they may still have a chance to appeal to Niles alone. If they’re not, Amanda has already returned. Now that they’re even closer to the inevitable conflict, Gavin can’t stop himself from thinking of what’s in store for him if Amanda gets the chance to puppet him again. If she uses him, sabotages them—

“Connor.”

Connor turns his head to look at him expectantly, prompting him to continue.

Gavin rubs his left hand over his right wrist, warding off the sensory memory of Amanda harnessing his blood to make him turn his own weapon on himself. “If she pits me against you, don’t let me hurt you.”

“You won’t,” Connor says, voice as sure and light as the breeze.

It isn’t quite the response Gavin is looking for, but he nods, knowing it’s the best he’s going to get.

There’s more, but there’s no easy way to say it. He isn’t sure he really wants to say it at all, but part of him feels he has to, has to face the reality of what could happen, no matter how much it makes his skin crawl.

“I can’t go back with them,” he says, forcing the words through his tight throat. “Can’t go back to that. If it comes down to it, I’d rather—”

Connor steps in front of him, facing him head-on. “You won’t have to. Gavin, I promise you won’t have to.”

“That’s not a promise you can make.”

Connor purses his lips, displeased.

Gavin continues, “You said yourself we don’t have this locked down, even with Chloe on our side. But I’m not leaving, either, you know that. Whichever way it goes, this has to be the end of it. If I have to go down, I want to go down swinging.”

“I didn’t mean it like that,” Connor says, shaking his head. “It won’t end that way, for you. That’s a promise I _can_ make. We all agree Amanda’s finished, remember?”

And Amanda has enemies larger than either Gavin or Connor. “Yeah, guess so.”

“I won’t let her touch you,” Connor continues, his golden eyes glinting under starlight, blazing with determination.

The intensity startles Gavin, and it must show on his face, because Connor forges on.

“After what you’ve done for me, what you’re continuing to do for me… you have to know I won’t let you be harmed. It isn’t about repaying a favour, it’s about—it’s about us. Doing this together.”

Gavin believes him. Feels like there’s no other choice but to believe him.

He doesn’t know what else to say. The space between them is electrified, making Gavin’s skin prickle with phantom static—he wants to reach forward, to make contact and become grounded.

Tentatively, he lifts a hand and—

Connor’s back straightens like his spine has been pulled taut, head whipping around, tuned into something Gavin can’t perceive.

But he has a good guess. “It’s her, isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

Gavin’s heart hammers in his chest. “Here? Now?”

It’s too soon, they aren’t ready. Chloe is still downstairs, Elijah still asleep. The fight has come to them instead of the other way around.

Connor starts to turn away, starts to crowd in front of Gavin like a shield as he turns his ear towards the entrance of the property. “All three of them.”

They need to buy some time, give Chloe a chance to catch up with them.

There are still things left unsaid between them, things they may not get the chance to voice if the rest of the night goes badly. Gavin has never been the best at voicing such things—personal things, things with weight—and he thought there would be more time before the point of no return. He may not have the words, but maybe he doesn’t need them any more than they did earlier in the chantry bedroom.

“Wait, Connor.”

He takes hold of Connor’s shoulder to turn him back around, grabbing the front of his shirt and reeling him in.

Connor’s brow is furrowed. “Gav—”

Gavin surges up and captures Connor’s lips with his own.

At first, Connor is completely still, stunned motionless. Gavin uncurls his fingers from Connor’s shirt and lays his palm flat on Connor’s sternum, running it up his chest.

All at once, Connor reanimates. Both his arms wrap around Gavin’s back to pull him closer as he returns the kiss, fingertips pressing into Gavin’s shirt, grasping on like Gavin is his anchor.

Everything except Connor’s touch dissolves into the background, fading until there’s nothing but the two of them with no space between. It isn’t unlike the mausoleum—Connor’s hold is sturdy, his kiss fervent—but it’s also more, defined by desire that isn’t influenced by anything but the connection between them.

One of Connor’s fangs catches on Gavin’s lower lip, causing Connor to startle and draw away until their lips are just barely touching.

“It’s okay,” Gavin murmurs. More than okay. There’s no blood, and Gavin doesn’t think he would mind if there was.

Connor dips down to kiss him again, this time slow and careful, before he pulls away again with more finality.

Their time is up.

Their hands linger on each other until the last possible moment as they part and prepare to face the oncoming battle.

Gavin pointedly moves onto Connor’s left, putting them on equal footing, in equal danger. Chloe still hasn’t emerged from the mausoleum, not alone nor with her Sire. “Guess this makes us the first line of defense.”

“You could still go, get to safety.”

With a scoff, Gavin pulls both his pistols off his belt. “Why even bother suggesting it when you already know what I’m going to say?”

Despite his worry, the corner of Connor’s lips twitches upwards.

Three figures approach up the cobblestone path. Gavin and Connor take defensive stances as Amanda, Silas, and Niles join them in front of the chantry.

Seeing them again with a clear mind puts a sick feeling in Gavin’s stomach. For a time, he was theirs, standing by them and hanging off their every word and command, never able to even conceive of opposing them. He remembers brief glimpses of clarity only for the wool to fall back over his eyes in an instant, keeping him from fighting back.

He could fall to them again. His only defense is having Connor to watch his back until reinforcements arrive.

Glancing to his right, he sees Connor’s eyes have become narrowed and sharp, his jaw clenched. Unbridled rage flares beneath the surface, as volatile as he was in his frenzy, but with a focus—one directed straight at Amanda.

Amanda stops a short distance away from them, Silas and Niles remaining at her back like they did the night Gavin was first taken to her office. Niles is already levelling an infuriated glare at Gavin while Amanda turns a scathing cold look on Connor, her lips twisted in disgust.

“When will you cease disappointing me, Connor?”

“Disappointment should be the least of your worries,” Connor snarls.

He brings a hand up in front of himself and curls his fingers inwards like he’s squeezing against something invisible.

Amanda hisses, clutching a hand to her chest. “Then you have made your choice,” she snaps through gritted teeth. “I have given you every opportunity—”

“I’m not interested in anything you have to say to me!” Connor yells at her, stalking forward. “I’m done listening to you.”

Silas mirrors him pace for pace, stepping in front of Amanda protectively as he shoots Connor a bewildered look. “Why are you doing this? Why do you keep turning on us? We’re family.”

The sentiment is so out of touch that it brings Gavin closer to believing Silas is just as blinded by Amanda’s blood and manipulation as Gavin was.

“Not with her,” Connor answers. He angles his face back just enough to address Gavin without taking his eyes off Amanda. “Please, try not to—”

“I know, I’ve got it. Keep her away from me and I’ll keep them busy.”

Connor nods, then returns his focus to his Sire.

Gavin marches forward, clicking the safeties of his pistols as he goes. Amanda might make short work of him, but if Connor can hold her off, Gavin’s got the brothers. “How was your trip, Silas? Shame you didn’t get lost on your way back home.”

Silas’ eyes snap away from Connor to lock on Gavin instead. “Don’t worry, darling, we’ll be best friends again by the end of the night.”

He reaches behind his back and Gavin hears the sing of metal being unsheathed.

Amanda swipes her hand through the air, causing Connor to recoil from an invisible force, but Gavin doesn’t get the chance to check on him. Silas darts forward, a pair of knives in hand.

Wordless, Niles joins Silas’ ranks, the two of them breaking away to meet Gavin while Amanda faces off against Connor.

Focused calm settles over Gavin—he has been fighting most of his life, is just as comfortable with a gun in hand as without, is accustomed to putting all other thought on hold while he faces an opposing force. Conscious of the difference between a shot to kill and a shot to debilitate, he aims both pistols and fires.

A shield of blood blooms over Silas’ shoulder to block both bullets. The writhing liquid continues to spread over his body until he’s encased in red, his smirk washed out behind a featureless mask.

Next to him, Niles lashes out with a bloody vine, and this time, Gavin won’t just accept it and turn the other cheek.

Gavin ducks under the strike, firing another two shots into Silas’ side as he darts between the Stern brothers. The blood shield holds, rippling out from the impact but never faltering.

Silas whirls around, arching one knife high and the other low.

As he hurries to back out of range, Gavin stumbles over the uneven ground, cursing under his breath. He points one gun at each brother to deter them from advancing further while he rights himself.

Niles wields a bloody tendril on each arm and snaps one forward, the thin end of it curling around Gavin’s wrist to jerk his weapon down at the grass.

Teeth gritted, Gavin points his other hand at the bloody limb and fires twice, splitting it apart. Red splashes over his hand as he’s freed.

Silas is on him in an instant, switching his grip on one knife to bring it down at Gavin in a powerful stab.

Gavin spins to the right, then checks his shoulder into Silas’ side, throwing him into a stumble.

The action leaves him open to retaliation. From behind him, Niles gets an arm wrapped around his chest, still encased in roiling blood. His hold is like a band of iron clamping down, restricting even his ability to take in a full breath.

Throwing his head back, Gavin connects his skull to Niles’ face, grinning when he hears a satisfying crunch.

Niles’ growl of anger is low and menacing next to Gavin’s ear, but he doesn’t release him.

Silas regains his balance, turning and lunging forward with both knives.

Held fast in Niles’ grip, there’s nowhere for Gavin to dodge. Adrenaline pounds through his veins as he fights to raise his one unimpeded arm, taking a blind guess at Niles’ exact position and banking everything on a play he’s only half sure will have an effect.

His instincts prove effective as the barrel of his pistol meets Niles’ temple and Silas skids to a stop, the points of his knives a foot away from Gavin’s chest.

Back when all of this started, Connor did say Silas used to be protective of his brothers. Silas’ words to Connor before the fight, words about family, make Gavin think there's some of that instinct left, even if Amanda has twisted it, manipulated it to her own benefit.

“That’s right,” Gavin taunts. “Now back it up.”

The blood over Silas’ form writhes and roils, shimmering with movement as he backs away, putting a safer distance between them. “Let him go, Niles.”

Niles doesn’t move, stubborn and prideful even with a gun pointed straight at his head.

Gavin kicks hard into his shin, causing Niles to jolt in surprise. The arm around Gavin’s chest slackens enough that he can wrench himself away during the moment of shock, retreating to a distance where he can catch his breath before Niles gets the chance to grab him again.

A loud crack pulls Gavin’s attention to the other side of the courtyard. He sees Amanda has thrown Connor into the trunk of a tree, the bark splintering around him.

Gavin’s forced to tear his eyes away when Silas aims a swipe across his midsection, almost too close, almost close enough to catch the fabric of Gavin’s shirt. He blocks another blow, shoves Silas away with as much force as he can muster.

From the treeline, a piercing cry rips through the night air—it rings in Gavin’s ears, gives him tunnel vision, makes him turn his back on the brothers to find Connor again.

Amanda readies a strike as she advances on Connor where he’s still pinned and shuddering against the tree.

Forgetting his own fight, Gavin aims the barrels of his pistols at the side of Amanda’s head and pulls both triggers in quick succession.

With a sneer, Amanda lifts her blood tendril up to defend herself, the bullets slamming into the barrier and falling uselessly to the grass, drops of blood splattering after them. She turns on him, amber eyes honing in on a fresh target as she raises her free hand, fingers spread like a puppeteer balancing a series of strings.

A chill strikes like lightning down Gavin’s spine, sending ice through his veins. The breath catches in his throat, he can’t, he _can’t_ —

Behind him, he hears Silas laugh low in the back of his throat. It’s a haunting, victorious sound—he knows as well as Gavin does that there’s nothing Gavin can do to resist this and has stopped to enjoy the show.

In his peripheral, he sees Connor. The look on his face is pure fury as he plants a hand onto the cracked tree trunk at his back and uses it to launch himself forward, back onto his feet. Once he has regained his footing, both hands come up into the air, clawed with tension.

Connor spreads them wide and Amanda gasps, her arms matching the motion. They become stretched out at her sides, held far back enough that she arches to accommodate the bend, restrained by Connor’s will.

Gavin hadn’t known Connor could do that—he looks at Connor with wide eyes to find that Connor almost looks just as shaken, like he hadn’t known either, like it only became possible as a means to protect.

He’s keeping his promise.

Then and there, Gavin decides it’s okay. That this is no reason to lose trust.

Head on straight once again, he fixes his slackened aim.

Before he has a chance to take another shot, the slash of a knife burns through his arm, Silas coming in from his flank.

“Shit,” Gavin hisses, losing his lock on Amanda as he brings his arm into his chest, crossing the opposite wrist over it to block the flow of blood.

Across the yard, Connor is holding his own, so Gavin reluctantly returns to his face-off against Silas and Niles.

Silas watches Gavin back away from him with a smirk. He raises his knife to his shielded lips, strands of red stretching between them as he licks Gavin’s blood off the flat side of the blade. “I missed your taste, detective.”

Shuddering, Gavin aims and fires, sending a pair of bullets at Silas’ arm. The blood shield takes both, wavering but pulling blood down from Silas’ shoulder to keep hold.

“Can’t you see it’s no use?” Silas asks. “Wasn’t it easier when you were free of the desire to fight?”

Disgust squirms in Gavin’s gut, fear ties knots in his chest. “No, it really wasn’t. Anything’s better than suffering through your company.”

Niles reforms the blood tendrils over his arms, ignoring their snarking to send both lashes at Gavin.

Gavin can only disrupt one in time—he prioritises the one coming for this throat. The second connects with his thigh, slicing straight through his jeans and into his skin.

With a grunt, Gavin tumbles to his knees, the impact causing a reverberation of pain through him that brings him all the way down into the grass. His slashed leg meets the ground with a stab of searing heat through the muscle. He grits his teeth and aims a shot, pinging a bullet off Silas’ chest as he leaps forward.

Gavin drags himself out of the way, fingers digging into dirt, narrowly missing the points of Silas’ knives.

A boot slams into his face.

Disoriented, Gavin falls onto his back, gazing up at Niles’ blurry form. Silas is already up and beside him, but—no, not Silas. Gavin blinks and the two figures merge back into one, returning to focus.

He sucks in a laboured breath. Blood clogs his nasal passages, drips down onto his lips.

Silas draws up beside Niles for real, the two of them towering over Gavin as a united front.

“I’m starting to suspect you’re more trouble than you’re worth,” Silas spits. “We were happy until you showed up, and now Connor’s gone mad. I thought it was funny at first, but you’ve corrupted him!”

Gavin glances over their shoulders, catching a glimpse of Connor and Amanda trading blows. The two fight with fluidity—Amanda strikes and Connor anticipates it with a small blood shield that catches it and then melts away to become a strike of his own. They command each other’s limbs in turn, just enough to throw each other off balance or save themselves from an attack.

Connor is levelling the playing field, but not enough to push back, not enough to do anything but keep Amanda at bay.

By nature of their ages, Connor will run out of energy before Amanda does, but Gavin thinks he would rather fall than surrender.

Returning his focus to the figures standing over him, Gavin lifts himself on a shaky hand and spits a mouthful of blood into the grass. “Is that what you think?”

Silas’ hands grip his knives tighter, blood squelching. “What?”

“You think you were happy? All of you? Connor hasn’t been happy a single day since I first met him.”

For a second, Silas’ hands dip lower at his sides, but then his mouth twists into a snarl, blood convulsing over his obscured face. He points one of his knives in Gavin’s direction. “What makes you think you know anything about our brother?!”

“Maybe because I talked to him, dipshit!” Gavin throws back.

Niles lets one limb of blood lose form and splash to the ground so he can grip Silas’ shoulder. “Stop engaging him. He’s buying time.”

“He’s telling the truth, is what he’s doing,” Silas growls. “Are you listening?”

“He’s telling what he believes to be the truth. A steady heartbeat isn’t everything.”

Silas rolls his eyes, only noticeable by a shift in the glean over his bloody armour. “Don’t lecture me.”

Gavin swipes the back of his hand across his face to mop up the blood from his oozing nose, trying to clear it enough to breathe.

The motion draws the brothers’ attention. Niles moves his hand to Silas’ chest and shoves him back. “I’ll finish this.”

Gavin chuckles wetly. “When was the last time you thought for your own damn self, Niles?”

“Not another word.”

Niles swings his remaining blood tendril down at Gavin.

Gavin rolls aside and pushes himself to his feet, grunting through the pain in his thigh and forearm. He spins around, quickly firing two shots at Niles, who blocks them with his blood-encased arm.

The tendril falls apart, and Niles is defenseless.

Gavin’s fingers hover over the triggers of his pistols, but he doesn’t move, doesn’t pull back that final inch.

None of his shots are having enough impact; to successfully slow Niles down before it's too late, Gavin needs to do more than just aim wide. A shot to the head isn't necessarily fatal—Niles has a good chance to heal if given time—but Gavin can’t be sure. He has never fought a vampire with the intent to subdue instead of kill.

He made a promise to Connor.

Niles closes the distance and grabs both of Gavin’s wrists in a vice grip, just shy of causing a fracture.

“Fuck,” Gavin gasps, his strained bones creaking as he’s forced to let go of his guns. They drop to the ground, out of reach and lost to him.

Niles releases him, only to grab him by the throat instead. He heaves Gavin into the air, fingers crushing his windpipe.

A prickling sensation flows through Gavin’s body, his nerve endings aflame. He sucks in what air he can, but it isn’t enough, it can’t stop the pins and needles, the weakening of his muscles.

Behind them, Silas murmurs, “Niles—”

Darkness spreads in the corner of Gavin’s eyes. He grabs Niles’ wrist, straining to give himself any small amount of leverage, any room to breathe, but he can do little more than dig his fingernails into Niles’ skin. His chest burns, clenched tight.

The fight seeps out of him as his mind gets hazy and his body wilts.

Blearily, he thinks to himself: at least they’re killing him, not controlling him.

Something moves behind Niles, something Gavin can barely make out. He thinks it has to be Silas, at first, but when a gentle hand comes to the side of Niles’ face, it isn’t Silas, isn’t sheathed in blood.

Light fingertips brush over Niles’ temple and sweep across his cheekbone, down to his jawline, and Chloe’s voice says, “Sleep.”

Niles’ eyes flutter closed. His fingers loosen around Gavin’s neck.

They both fall. A cold hand catches Gavin’s arm around the bicep to stop his descent, pulling him into Chloe’s sturdy hold.

Gavin leans against her and gasps at the air, chest heaving and vision clearing in increments, body still trembling from exertion.

Silas drops to his knees next to Niles on the ground, his blood shield dispelled. He takes his younger brother’s hand with an uncharacteristic gentleness.

He’s still conscious—he let Chloe through without a fight.

Gavin blinks the last of the spots from his eyes before scanning the yard in search of Connor.

He's down in the grass and he has been dealt fresh lashes to the chest, blood seeping through his shirt, but his eyes are open and he’s propping himself up, still alive and fighting back.

A new figure steps down the chantry steps, clothed in a deep blue robe, with dark hair pulled back in a tight knot, marble skin, and piercing white eyes. He’s as unearthly as his progeny, and remarkably put together for someone who recently woke from an entombed slumber.

Amanda shrinks away from him, displaying something other than calm control for the first time since Gavin met her.

“Look at me,” Elijah says.

In an instant, Amanda obeys, her wide eyes shining with fear.

Elijah does nothing but return her gaze with unblinking intensity.

Amanda brings her hand up to her own throat, the points of her blood-red nails pricking into her skin.

“How else did you expect it to end?” Elijah asks.

“You should have—” Amanda’s voice breaks, weak and strained. “Should have become dust.”

“Youthful ignorance.”

“Ancient apathy,” Amanda hisses back.

Elijah’s lips curve into a slight smile. “I will miss your wit and your sharp tongue.”

Amanda’s nails sink deeper into her flesh, blood welling around the tips of her fingers. In one snap movement, she tears open her own throat in a flash of red, head snapping back, held by a tenuous thread.

She crumples, body cascading into ash before she makes it to the ground.

The chantry courtyard goes quiet as the dust scatters into the night air, dissolving into nothing.

An immeasurable weight lifts off Gavin’s shoulders, leaving him buoyant and heady as he watches the specks of Amanda’s form disappear. She’s gone, no chance at ever healing and coming back, no chance of her sinking herself into Gavin’s mind and marrow ever again. From her, Gavin is truly free. The memories persist, but their hold on him will fade just like her hold on him has been broken.

A few feet away, Silas pitches forward, one hand still on Niles’ and the other clawing into the grass. Shoulders quaking, he leans over the ground, face turned away from the place his mother once stood.

The silence is broken as he wails, half in grief, half in anger.

Across the cobblestone path, Connor jerks into action, scrambling to his feet and stumbling forward on weakened legs. He approaches Silas with a hand outstretched.

Silas sits up, eyes tinged red and fangs bared. He slaps Connor’s offered hand away with a snarl. “Get away from me!”

Connor sags, dropping to his knees in front of his twin. “Silas…”

“How could you?” Silas screams at him. “How could you let him?!”

In the distance, Elijah scoffs as he straightens the lapels of his robe.

“I’m sorry,” Connor whispers.

“You aren’t.”

Connor drops his eyes to the ground, jaw clenched.

Silas lets out a harsh, humourless laugh as he looks away from Connor, turning his attention to Niles. “Leave, all of you. I don’t want any of you here. You are no longer welcome in this chantry.”

Connor blinks his eyes wide, lips parting wordlessly as his expression shatters.

Pulling away from Chloe, Gavin goes to him. He limps through the pain in his leg, takes in a rattling breath that burns his abused throat, and grasps onto Connor’s shoulder. “C’mon, we gotta go,” he rasps.

There’s a faraway look in Connor’s eyes, a hollowness that makes Gavin’s chest feel even tighter than it already does. He looks cut off from his surroundings, disconnected and adrift.

But he nods faintly, managing to process Gavin’s words. Connor raises a hand to grasp onto Gavin’s arm, letting Gavin help him to his feet, becoming pliant under Gavin’s touch. They lean into each other, both weary, bloody, and dead on their feet.

“C’mon,” Gavin says again, easing them both in the direction of the street.

Chloe and Elijah follow suit and the four of them leave the chantry—and Connor’s brothers—behind.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you, [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake), for continuing to beta <3

Gavin passes out seconds after they cross the threshold into his apartment. His cats—quickly retrieved from the tower along with his belongings—wriggle out of Chloe’s arms to drop to the carpeted floor of the living room. They're fuzzier than usual around the edges, blurred no matter how much he tries to focus his eyes. Against him, Connor tenses, realising before Gavin does that he’s on the verge of unconsciousness. It's the last thing Gavin is aware of.

When he next wakes, he’s laid on his back in bed, dressed down to his boxers. His body throbs in three separate locations, accompanied by the tightness of stitches holding the slash in his thigh together and the smothering heat of bandages wrapped tight.

Somewhere to his left, Connor says, “You’re okay, you’re okay…”

Gavin doesn’t know which of them Connor is talking to, doesn’t get a chance to respond before he’s sinking deep again.

The time after that, Connor helps him get some painkillers and water down, easing his injuries enough that he feels almost normal. Being injured is second nature—he has never fought a fight quite like the one with Amanda and Connor’s brothers, but pain is an old friend. Normally, he does his own stitches, needing them done too quickly for Tina or Hank to come by and help. Normally, he doesn’t have the luxury of passing out while someone else takes care of him.

He sleeps well and doesn’t wake up alone. Connor is there, now lying next to him in a deep slumber of his own, no longer looking like what they’ve been through. Gavin can almost envy the vampires for their near-impervious skin and rapid healing.

Too addled to second-guess, Gavin shimmies closer until he’s sharing a pillow with Connor, their foreheads pressed together.

The feather-light touch of Connor’s bangs ghosting against his brow drowns out the rest of his lingering pain.

* * *

In just a couple days, Gavin is active again, his thigh twinging if he stays on his feet too long, but otherwise on the mend. Connor continues to sleep at his side by some unspoken agreement born of the closeness that has built between them and the awkwardness of four people with varying relationships all crammed together in one small apartment.

Having vampires as house guests takes time for Gavin to get used to.

They’re content with little, but no single room remains empty for long and they move so silently, appearing out of nowhere without warning, that Gavin feels like he’s had three heart attacks within a week. Elijah decides to familiarise himself with technological advances by disassembling and then reassembling every electronic Gavin owns while Chloe resumes her habit of becoming so still she’s like a statue, going motionless for long enough periods that Pep and Miss use her as a cat bed.

Connor, when not being directly engaged, is more reminiscent of a ghost than a vampire. He drifts around Gavin’s apartment with a thousand-yard stare in place at all times, only snapping out of it when he notices someone is paying attention. Sometimes, as they’re laid together in bed at sunrise, Gavin fights to stay awake long enough to watch Connor’s features go relaxed with sleep, no longer grim and gaunt.

Their pyrrhic victory goes uncelebrated. Connor’s whole world has crumbled to pieces.

Gavin is at a loss for what to do about any of it—the Stern job has been completed for better or worse. By this point, he’s usually already busy looking for another long-term job or taking to the streets to weed out easy prey. This time, his heart isn’t in it.

For the heck of it, he entertains the thought of returning to his old job at the DPD. It wouldn’t be the same, not only for the reason he left in the first place but because of Tina and Hank’s absence. Now, it feels just as viable as continuing to hunt vampires.

Thinking of Tina and Hank reminds Gavin that Connor isn’t the only one with personal relationships up in the air.

He should have already gotten in contact with them. He just doesn’t know what to say, how to explain.

The longer he puts it off, the harder it will be. Best to jump straight into the deep end and hope for the best rather than let it fester more than it already has.

After breakfast one afternoon, Gavin does a circuit around his apartment to take note of his vampire guests.

Elijah is reading one of Gavin’s books with his nose wrinkled, like the text somehow offends him, but he’s already a third of the way into it and hasn’t put it down, so Gavin will make a point of commenting on how riveting he must have found it once he’s finished just to annoy him. Chloe is sitting in the living room armchair with Miss perched on her shoulder like a gargoyle atop an ancient structure.

Gavin finds Connor in the bathroom of all places, sitting on the edge of the bathtub beneath fluorescent lighting. His skin is grey under the glow, his features washed out.

“You hiding?” Gavin asks.

“Hm?”

Gavin leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “When I was in the system, I ended up at a place with four other kids. It was crowded and chaotic and I had to get creative when I wanted half a second to myself.”

“No, it’s not—” Connor purses his lips, eyes trained on the shiny tile flooring. “I’m grateful for your hospitality, I just—”

“Christ, Connor. You’re not going to upset me if you need your alone time.”

Connor pulls at the hem of his sleeve, straightening it. “I know that.”

“Good,” Gavin says. He worries his bottom lip between his teeth, searching for a way to say what he wants to say without feeling ridiculous and out of his depth. “But, uh, you don’t have to be alone, you know? Just… let me know what you need.”

Connor’s eyes slide shut. The slump of his back and the downward slope of his shoulders make it look like he’s on the verge of falling asleep upright.

“I am alone, though,” he says. “I lost both of them.”

The topic that has gone untouched since the four of them left the chantry finally overflows, spilling into the space between them. There aren’t any comforting words to soothe this kind of loss—none that Gavin has any familiarity with.

Connor continues. “I thought… it would be different once she was gone.”

“Maybe they just need time.”

Connor makes a noise in the back of his throat, neither an agreement nor a rebuttal.

Gavin steps into the room and takes a seat on the cold porcelain next to Connor, letting their shoulders brush into each other. “You did the right thing, for all of you. They have to figure that out eventually.”

“How do you know it was the right thing?”

Gavin threads his fingers together in the space between his legs. They’re worn, callused, and scarred from both his work as a detective and a hunter—broken in for the grip of a weapon, weathered from claws and fire.

“Don’t know. The right thing can’t always be defined in rigid categories, by law. Sometimes it’s what’s best for people in the moment, or in the long run. Sometimes you just have to go with your gut.”

The press of Connor’s arm lines up almost perfectly with Gavin’s, just a little longer, a little sharper in the elbow. “You have good instincts.”

Gavin exhales a rush of breath through his nose, the corner of his lips quirking. “You basing that off my case records?”

“Are they wrong?”

“I guess not, overall. But we all make mistakes. We all make decisions that don’t check every box. It just doesn’t work that way.”

Connor says nothing, becoming lost in thought.

Above them, the bathroom lighting hums.

The best thing the Sterns have going for them is a multitude of time—right now, Silas and Niles may not understand why Connor did what he did, but Gavin saw the hesitation in Silas’ form, the newfound softness in his voice when he called his younger brother’s name as Niles tried to choke the life from Gavin. If it takes years for Connor’s family to reunite, they’ll have many more after it to drown the time spent apart. Gavin doesn’t think it’ll take years, though.

Breaking the silence, Connor asks, “What did your gut tell you about us?”

It’s a loaded question and a complicated answer—Gavin takes a moment to think it through, to consider what Connor is hoping to hear. What he might _need_ to hear.

He wonders what kind of person he would be, if raised by someone like Amanda. His own mother was the antithesis of the woman Connor and his brothers have lived with through the past couple centuries. Gavin’s own harshness stems from the loss of her, not the lessons she taught. He knows a little something about losing a true parent and being taken in by people who would sooner hurt and control than nurture.

“I came in with a bias,” Gavin says. “I thought I would find monsters, so that’s what I saw, at first. Monsters with human masks. You weren’t like that, though, not even at the beginning. I wouldn’t have looked deeper, if you hadn’t shown me there was more to see.”

Connor shifts beside him, angled in. From the corner of Gavin’s eye, he sees Connor watching him.

“And what have you found?”

“People. As complex as any human, and just as easily manipulated by those meant to foster them.”

“Do you think people can break out of that?”

Gavin lifts his face, catches Connor’s eye. “Yeah, I do. And it’s always easier with distance from the root of the issue.”

With Amanda gone, Silas and Niles will find their own way, like Gavin did after the slew of homes he passed through.

This time, when Connor’s eyes slide shut and his shoulders drop, it isn’t a sign of exhaustion, but of relief.

“Even if they never want to see me again, if they’re at least happy and free… I can live with that.”

Gavin isn’t sure Connor can, isn’t sure Connor will ever be the same if the rift between himself and his family remains, but there’s no sense in saying as much. No matter how it plays out, Gavin will be there to help him through it.

Connor may need to repay the favour, if Hank and Tina don’t respond to all of this any better than Silas did.

“There’s something I need to do,” Gavin says.

“Oh?”

“A couple people I should check in with. They’re hunters, too.”

Connor makes a soft thoughtful noise. “What are you going to tell them?”

“The truth,” Gavin says. “Not enough for them to come after you or your brothers, but there’s no way I can just go back to the way things were before. I can’t lie to them about this.”

“Do you want me to come with you?”

Gavin had initially planned to take Chloe and Elijah, instead. Hank and Tina wouldn’t pose any threat to them and it would give Connor time to himself, but Gavin takes in the look on Connor’s face—genuine with just a hint of concern on Gavin’s behalf—and he nods. “Yeah. If you’re okay with meeting more hunters, that would be cool.”

Connor curls a hand around Gavin’s forearm, grip like stone but not so unyielding. “We’ll go together, then.”

His other hand comes up to cup Gavin’s cheek, turning his face. Gavin searches his eyes, sees calm intent and pupils dilated with interest. In tandem, they lean into each other, sharing their first kiss since the night at the chantry.

This one isn’t rushed, isn’t fueled by an impending fight, a frantic final confession lest they never get another chance. This one is slow and gentle, a promise and a reaffirmation that there was more to it than the heat of the moment.

When they part, there’s a small smile on Connor’s lips that smooths out his features. There’s still a tiredness to his eyes, but it’s less pronounced, less haunted.

As they stand and leave the room together, they take each other’s hand, Connor’s cold fingers entwined with Gavin’s warm ones.

* * *

Visiting Hank becomes a group outing when Elijah declares he needs some time away from Gavin’s “hovel”. Arguing with Elijah once his mind is made up proves to be impossible, resulting in the four of them piling into Gavin’s old car and crossing the city after sundown.

At Hank’s, Gavin parks across the street even though there’s space in the driveway. He grips the steering wheel with white-knuckled hands once the engine is off, breathing in through his nose, then out through his mouth.

Connor takes his right wrist and pulls his hand away from the wheel, cupping it between his own. He doesn’t offer any platitudes, only this comfort and solidarity. Gavin is grateful.

“Alright, let’s get this over with,” Gavin says.

Connor releases him and they all exit the car together.

After he knocks on Hank’s front door, Gavin drifts in front of Connor, making a shield of himself. Hank isn’t likely to open the door with a shotgun already in hand, but the nape of Gavin’s neck prickles and his palms are growing sweaty. Connor lays a hand on the small of his back, a subtle connection between them.

The time between hearing Hank’s footsteps approach the door and the sound of the locks opening feels like an eternity.

The door opens to reveal Hank with his eyes narrowed in appraisal at the group gathered on his front stoop, taking particular notice of the bruises still mottled around Gavin’s neck.

“Hey, Hank.”

“It’s been weeks.”

“Yeah, I know,” Gavin says, lifting his hands to placate. “I’ve got an explanation.”

Hank’s focus shifts over Gavin’s shoulder to land on Connor, then flickers between Chloe and Elijah in the back.

“Jesus Christ,” Hank says, “You too, huh?”

Gavin blinks. “What?”

With a sigh, Hank pulls the door open wider, then turns back into the house, allowing Gavin and the others to follow him in.

Hank drops down into his armchair, leaving the rest of them to fill in the space around him. Gavin takes the corner of the couch closest to him, Connor and Chloe take the other two spots, and Elijah meanders around the room, scrutinising Hank’s belongings.

“When was the last time you talked to Tina?” Hank asks.

Long enough that Gavin can’t even remember with any certainty. He runs a hand through his hair, scratching at his scalp. “Right before I started with the Sterns?”

The look Hank gives him is withering.

“I know,” Gavin says hurriedly, “like I said, I’ve got reasons.”

Hank leans back in his seat and spreads his hands out in a gesture of dramatic invitation. “Let’s hear it, then.”

Unsure of where to begin, Gavin takes a deep breath, then releases it slowly. He looks to Connor, who gives him a gentle smile.

“This is Connor Stern,” Gavin says, reluctantly tearing his eyes away from Connor’s warm expression to look at Hank again.

The only reaction Hank has is to briefly size Connor up. There’s no outburst, no scrambling for weapons—he takes it in stride.

Gavin expected a more noticeable resistance but he can’t parse what’s going on in Hank’s head. Tentatively, he continues, “He helped me kill his Sire.”

Behind them, Elijah has opened a photo album of Hank’s, creating the sound of cascading sheet plastic as he flips through the pages. “He helped you hold her off,” he says.

Ignoring him, Gavin forges on before Hank’s poker face gives him cold feet. “The Sterns ended up being… not what I expected. In a couple of ways.”

Elijah says, “The Sterns are descended from blood mages who sought immortality in the form of vampirism. To most, they are indomitable.”

“Yeah, that,” Gavin deadpans. “Anyway, I got caught out. Spent some time, uh…”

“Thralled,” Elijah interjects.

Gavin turns to glare at him over the back of the couch. “Can you let me handle this?”

“Yes, of course.” Elijah snaps the photo album shut and replaces it on the shelf, moving along to poke at some of Hank’s tchotchkes.

Turning back around, Gavin refocuses on Hank, who continues to look unamused. “But I’m good now, obviously. It’s been taken care of.”

Hank gives a grunt of acknowledgement. “Who are these two, then?” he asks, nodding at Chloe and Elijah in turn.

“Friends of the family,” Gavin says.

Elijah steps up to Hank’s armchair and offers his hand. “Elijah Kamski.”

Hank raises an eyebrow at him. “That supposed to mean something to me?”

“Hm. Perhaps, if you were more well-read on history. My mistake.” Elijah draws his hand away and folds them both together at the small of his back, returning to his circuit around the room.

Hank grumbles something rude-sounding under his breath, causing the corner of Elijah’s lips to curl upwards.

“Anyway,” Gavin says, putting an irritated edge to his tone. Connor brushes their knees together, calming and encouraging, much like his touch was back in the car. “This is going to be difficult to hear, but…”

He starts by reiterating that Connor stood up to his own Sire, mentions that Connor made hard choices to keep Gavin away from harm. He skirts around the connection that quickly grew between them but talks about his own conflicted thoughts building into the acknowledgement that not all vampires are evil.

Where continuing to hunt is concerned, Gavin still hasn’t decided what he wants to do, but he finds himself rambling nervously about it all the same. If he keeps it up, he’ll have to do it differently, he wants to make sure he isn’t attacking someone who doesn’t deserve it. Some vampires are dangerous—the one who killed Cole will never get sympathy from Gavin, and he makes sure Hank knows it—but others are innocent.

His breath catches when the word ‘innocent’ recalls the image of a strangled hunter lying on a dirty motel carpet to the forefront of his mind, but he forces himself past it before anyone can comment.

Eventually, he runs out of things to say, his voice petering off awkwardly into a tense silence. Gavin realises he has been staring at the floor between his feet for a while and lifts his head, chancing a look at Hank.

In the place of anger or bewilderment or betrayal, there’s something gentle and fond in Hank’s expression. There’s no animosity or suspicion in his gaze when he glances around at Connor, Chloe, and Elijah again.

Gavin can’t help but feel like he’s missing something. He stops for a second, runs over everything Hank has said since opening the door and seeing Gavin in the company of three obvious vampires.

“Holy shit,” he mutters. “What happened with Tina?”

“Give her a damn call, Gavin,” Hank says with exasperation. “You don’t have to worry about either of us giving you trouble over this. It’s been an enlightening couple of months.”

The breath leaves Gavin’s lungs in a rush as he slumps back into the couch, all the tension in his body releasing at once. He doesn’t know what he would have done if Hank hadn’t been receptive.

“Wait,” he says, brow furrowing. “If… if we’re all on the same damn page, why did you let me blabber on for so long? Could’ve stopped me at any time, Hank. How about a ‘no need to spill your guts, Reed, it’s A-Okay’, huh?”

Hank smirks. “Serves you fucking right.”

“God damnit. I’m sorry, alright? I went M.I.A. and freaked you out, I get it.”

Hank pushes himself up onto his feet, gesturing for Gavin to join him. Once Gavin complies, Hank reels him in for a hug, enveloping him in warmth.

Gavin goes stock still. This isn’t something they do, especially not after Cole, after the horror of his murder darkened Hank’s entire being. It isn’t something they do, but Gavin slowly eases into it, sinking into Hank’s embrace as he rests his head on Hank’s broad shoulder.

“Get in touch with us before you’re in over your head like that,” Hank says, the rumble of his voice rustling Gavin’s hair.

“I didn’t know I was in that deep ‘till it was too late. But yeah, I hear you. Don’t think I’ll be facing much of anything alone anymore.”

He feels the incline of Hank’s head and knows he’s looking at Connor again, knows he’s seeing more than Gavin got around to explaining.

“I’ll call Tina as soon as I can,” he says, deflecting before Hank has a chance to make a quip about it.

Hank claps a hand over Gavin’s shoulder before they break apart. “Seems like the two of you have a lot to talk about.”

“Yeah, apparently.”

The rest of the evening progresses smoothly. Hank asks questions about what happened with the Sterns, and Gavin does his best to answer without getting too personal. Elijah goes through Hank’s record collection until he decides on an album to play, seeming to approve of Hank’s tastes. Sumo takes a liking to all three of the vampires to varying results—Connor gets stars in his eyes immediately, Chloe indulges him the same way she does Gavin’s cats, and Elijah pointedly ignores the dog’s inquisitive sniffs and attempts to play.

Before long, Hank herds them towards the door, complaining that not all of them are nocturnal beings capable of staying awake until four in the morning.

“Don’t be a stranger,” he tells Gavin as he pulls him into another hug. “You and Connor better come around for dinner sometime.”

“C’mon, Hank,” Gavin grouses, because Connor is a vampire and he doesn’t need the shovel talk.

“Don’t give me that tone.”

Gavin knows Hank’s only saying it to rile him up so he just sighs, accepting both the hug and Hank’s stroke of protectiveness. “Fine, whatever. I’ll see you soon.”

Hank lets him go, and they take their leave.

As they’re crossing the street back to Gavin’s car, Connor says, “I like him.”

“As do I,” Elijah comments from behind them.

Gavin flips him off over his shoulder without bothering to turn around. “That went a lot better than expected,” he admits.

There’s a pang in his chest when he thinks about how Connor hasn’t been so lucky, but Connor is smiling and walking close to him, gently hooking their fingers together until they reach the car, nothing but happy for Gavin in this moment.

When they stop by the driver’s side door, Gavin kisses Connor deeply, full to the brim with affection and gratitude.

* * *

Back at the apartment, the four of them are barely through the door before Elijah is clapping his hands together. “This has been informative and entertaining, but it is time for me and Chloe to depart.”

Gavin kicks his shoes onto the mat at the bottom of his entranceway closet. “And go where, exactly?”

“Belle Isle, of course, to reclaim what is mine.”

At Gavin’s shoulder, Connor goes tense. Elijah and Chloe are still standing at the door, ready to walk right back through it.

“You can’t,” Connor says, voice strained.

Chloe steps forward to take Connor’s hand into both of hers, cradling it comfortingly. “We are not seeking a fight, only an exchange.”

“But you’ll _find_ a fight,” Connor grits out. “They won’t just walk away; they’ll force your hand.”

Elijah brushes his fingers down the sleeve of his other arm, relieving it of cat hair. “I should hope they aren’t so idiotic as to fight against us. If they have any sense, they will back down gracefully.”

Connor’s jaw clenches but he averts his eyes, making no response. Chloe pats his hand before pulling away from him, returning to Elijah’s side and leaving their group separated once again—Elijah and Chloe at the door, Connor and Gavin in the apartment proper.

Betrayal and anger are firebrands in Gavin’s core. His hands curl into fists as he aims a glare at both Elijah and Chloe. “You bastards. After everything we—”

Elijah holds a hand up and Gavin’s words are stolen from his mouth, leaving him floundering.

Between one second and the next, Gavin’s heartbeat spikes so hard he can hear it pounding in his ears; the world narrows to a single point, it’s difficult to breathe through the knots in his chest. His voice taken, part of him _taken_ , he thought it was _over_ and he would never be a plaything again—

Connor moves in front of him with a snarl, one hand coming back to grip at Gavin’s wrist, mooring him.

Breathe in through his nose—

“Don’t,” Connor warns lowly, baring his fangs at the ancient pair.

Through the panic, Gavin thinks—there’s nothing either of them can do against Elijah and Chloe, nothing to stop them—

“Or what,” Elijah deadpans, like he stole the thoughts from Gavin’s mind as easily as the words from his mouth.

“Connor,” Chloe tries with more softness in her tone. “We will not hurt him, nor will we hurt your brothers, no matter how they react. They will be fine.”

Gavin’s throat unseizes, allowing him to gasp in a deep breath. Shaken, he doesn’t bother trying to speak again, instead letting himself melt into the line of Connor’s back and the protection it offers, leaning his forehead into the nape of Connor’s neck.

He and Elijah grate at each other, but Gavin thought he was safe, thought it would only ever be mild irritation and banter. With a trembling hand, he holds onto Connor’s hip keeping himself balanced as he tries to keep breathing.

“You cannot think I would leave my company in the hands of Childr who have not yet lived for a single millennium,” Elijah says. “It was not Amanda’s to take, and it certainly does not belong to your brothers. The chantry, however, remains full property of the Sterns to use as you see fit.”

His word is as good as law—Gavin knows it and Connor knows it, too.

“If you kill them…” Connor starts faintly, whatever threat he wishes to convey becoming lost in the knowledge that threats have no bearing against such old and powerful vampires.

“We will not,” Chloe reiterates. “Our quarrel was never with Silas and Niles, only Amanda.”

Connor lays his hand over Gavin’s at his waist, fitting his fingers between the spaces of Gavin’s.

Without another word, Elijah turns, opens the door, and walks out into the hallway.

“We will be in touch,” Chloe says before dutifully following after him.

She pulls the door shut in their wake. Connor and Gavin are left to the silent darkness of the apartment, tense and off-kilter.

They stay that way until Chloe and Elijah are long gone, until Gavin's body loosens and he feels safe enough to speak. It's only the two of them, now. Gavin swallows, clears his throat. “Hey.”

A full-bodied tremor wracks through Connor’s form as he spins around to face Gavin, collapsing into his chest. Gavin catches him with both arms around his waist, holding him secure as Connor burrows into him, clinging to him like a lifeline.

“Are you okay?” Connor asks, his lips skimming against Gavin’s ear.

“Will be,” Gavin mutters. “You?”

Connor makes a non-committal noise in the back of his throat as he lowers his face into the crook of Gavin’s neck.

Gavin splays a hand over the small of his back, holding him close. “Chloe… seemed pretty serious. Do you trust her?”

“I don’t know.” Connor’s voice is muffled by the fabric of Gavin’s shirt. “It has been so long; I feel like I barely know her anymore. But… she means well. She helped us.”

While Chloe is undoubtedly aligned completely with Elijah, Gavin feels his own camaraderie with her after their escape from the mausoleum. He wants to believe she has the best interests of Connor, Silas, and Niles in mind, wants to hope she will temper Elijah if necessary.

“C’mon,” Gavin says, nudging his nose into the side of Connor’s head. “It’ll be sunrise soon, let’s get in bed.”

Connor doesn’t resist as Gavin directs them down the hallway, staying as connected to Gavin as he can without impeding their progress. He’s malleable under Gavin’s hands while also doling out gentle touches to Gavin’s jaw and throat, as if he can chase away the lingering effects of Elijah’s suppression. After brushing their teeth while pressed side by side, they make it into their room and help each other undress, sinking down into the sheets they have shared over the past week.

Once they’re both laid down, Connor rolls into Gavin’s side, placing a hand on Gavin’s chest over his heart. Gavin rubs his back in slow movements.

They don’t talk and they don’t sleep.

Gavin tries not to watch the clock on his nightstand but fails. An hour passes, then two.

His phone—still in the pocket of his jeans, which he left in a heap on the floor with the rest of their clothes—vibrates.

For the first time over the course of two hours, Connor moves, lifting himself off Gavin’s shoulder and giving his chest a little shove, urging him impatiently.

Gavin leans over the side of the bed, scrabbling to free his phone from his pocket. As soon as he has it, he falls back down on the mattress so Connor can read the screen with him.

Chloe has sent: _Tomorrow night, Silas and Niles will permanently relocate to the chantry. Elijah and I will remain here at the tower._

Going boneless with relief, Connor sags into Gavin’s side once again. “They’re safe.”

Gavin drops his phone on the nightstand before wrapping both arms around Connor’s shoulders. “Yeah. All three of you will be okay.”

In time, Connor manages to fall asleep in Gavin’s embrace, and Gavin holds him through the daylight hours.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ronnie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RonnieSilverlake) has been an absolutely incredible beta. i appreciate the hell out of her and im so grateful to have her support! <3

Between the assurance that his brothers are alive and the time he and Gavin have alone, just the two of them, Connor’s mood begins to improve. He relaxes steadily, smiles more often. Gavin isn’t sure how to help other than be there for him, but fortunately, that seems to be enough.

They’re both at a crossroads, shifting from one chapter of their lives to another, but Gavin isn’t rushing to the next thing. It can’t last forever, so Gavin takes advantage of the opportunity to show Connor what he might have missed while spending most waking moments doing business on Belle Isle.

He takes Connor to nighttime concerts and movies. They ride the People Mover around the city instead of taking Gavin’s car, traveling scenically among the citizens of Detroit. They go to clubs, spending evenings dancing and being so caught up in each other that the instinct to watch for vampires lurking in the shadows barely crosses Gavin’s mind. They go to an evening basketball game; they take a ferry through Lake St. Clair.

Gavin introduces Connor to Tina, and Tina introduces them both to North. After having been convinced Hank and Tina wouldn’t understand Gavin’s change of heart, it turns out Tina has found herself in a situation not unlike Gavin’s. Tina meeting Connor isn’t any different from her meeting Gavin’s past human partners—she’s friendly and open, but also makes a point to casually threaten Connor at least once, not because Connor is a vampire but because Gavin is her best friend. From the sharp, warning look in North’s eye, Gavin gets the idea that he shouldn’t return the gesture, if he values his life.

One night, as they’re returning to the apartment, Connor is all hands and lips, his touch cold in sensation but warm in intent. He backs Gavin up to the foot of the bed in the room that has become _theirs_ , one hand cupped over Gavin’s neck and the other slipping under the hem of his shirt.

“Wait, Con—” Gavin mutters against Connor’s lips.

“Mm?” Connor hums as he claws his fingers against Gavin’s abdomen.

Gavin can’t stop himself from arcing closer, but he manages to circle a hand around Connor’s wrist, holding him still. “Are you sure?”

Drawing back far enough to meet his eye, Connor searches his expression, brow furrowed. “Of course. Are you?”

Gavin wets his lips, wishing he could press them to Connor’s again. Not a single part of him hesitant or unsure—it’s Connor he’s worried about.

Things have been good, but not perfect. Not while Connor is suspended in the unknown, faced with radio silence from his estranged family.

“Just… if your head’s not in the right place, right now,” Gavin mutters, rubbing his thumb over Connor’s wrist. “I’d get it.”

Connor blinks at him, tilting his head in thought. He slides his hand around to the back of Gavin’s neck, up into his hair. “You’re sweet,” he says.

Gavin balks. “Oh, shut—”

The fingers in his hair tighten, making his breath hitch.

“Gavin,” Connor says in a no-nonsense tone. “You have been understanding, caring, patient, and _incredibly_ sweet.”

Gavin swallows, face heating up.

Connor leans in and kisses his cheekbone, cold lips searing against Gavin’s flush.

“Okay,” Gavin concedes. “But still—”

“I’ve wanted you since I read your case records.”

Gavin sucks in a sharp breath, his knees going weak. “Jesus.”

Connor pushes him further back until he drops onto the bed, keeps pushing until he moves backwards towards the pillows and Connor can climb up after him.

“I won’t lie and say I wouldn’t like for you to take my mind off everything except you, except us,” Connor says. “But it’s more than a distraction, believe me.”

Gavin hooks his finger into Connor’s belt loop, pulling him closer. He lies back on the bedsheets, Connor hovering over him with a grin on his face that reveals the points of his fangs. They aren’t worrying, they’re enticing—Gavin wants to feel them pressed into his lips, ghosted over skin.

“Shit, don’t need to tell me twice,” Gavin says, letting out a breathy laugh.

Connor’s smile widens. He swoops low, slotting their bodies together as he captures Gavin’s lips with his own.

Gavin voices no more complaints for the rest of the night.

* * *

The next few days are spent closer to home, lounging in comfortable clothes and rarely losing contact with each other. Gavin catches himself thinking that he could happily do this for as long as it lasts, for as long as they have before they need to face that the world is still continuing on around them.

For now, he’s happy to cuddle with Connor on the couch as they marathon movies, more comfortable than he has felt in a long time.

It makes it that much more disconcerting when their little pocket of reality away from reality is interrupted.

At the sound of a faint knock on the apartment door, both of them go still. Connor’s hand tightens around Gavin’s arm, fingers digging in.

“No heartbeat,” he breathes.

A visit from a vampire is a toss up, these days, but a polite knock is a good sign. Gavin lifts Connor’s hand to his lips to lay a kiss on his knuckles before drawing away and standing up.

“Gav—” Connor hisses after him, but Gavin just shoots him a reassuring smile as he continues to the front door. He does a mental checklist of where he has weapons hidden around the room, just in case. Between the gun in the closet, the knives under the coffee table, and Connor’s abilities, Gavin isn’t concerned.

The last person he expects to see standing in the hallway is Niles.

He looks the same as usual—face straight and placid, dressed in clean lines and sharp angles—but not as threatening as Gavin came to expect. Making no move to lash out, Niles keeps his hands at rest in the pockets of his long jacket, a little tense but still casual.

Gavin narrows his eyes warningly, remaining on the defensive even as he takes Niles’ stance in stride. “If you’re here to start something, you can fuck right off.”

Disdain is evident in the pulling of Niles’ lip and the wrinkling of his nose, but he doesn’t shift into an attack. “I was told Connor was here.”

“And?” Gavin snaps.

Soft footsteps sound behind him as Connor approaches, cautiously moving into the sightlines of the doorway.

“Niles?”

Niles’ face softens when his eyes land on Connor, looking more human than Gavin has ever seen him. His lips part like he’s going to speak but no words come, resulting in him averting his eyes to the carpet, brow furrowed.

It’s like looking at a complete stranger. This isn’t the same Niles who locked him in the mausoleum and tried to strangle him to death. Those incidents still happened, but Gavin can’t imagine this version of Niles—nervous and shamed—doing those same things, now.

Gavin sighs as he takes a step back, pulling the door wider with him. “Come in, then.”

Lifting his face, Niles shoots him a startled look, but he schools his expression quickly, squaring his shoulders before coming into the apartment.

Gavin shuts the door while the two brothers stand face to face, neither speaking. He keeps Niles in the corner of his eye as he returns to the living room and drops down into the armchair.

Glancing over Connor’s shoulder, Niles watches him warily. “Could you give us a few minutes to—”

“I’ve been surrounded by vampires with supersonic hearing for weeks. Fair’s motherfucking fair,” Gavin says, crossing his arms to punctuate his point.

If Niles thinks Gavin will leave him alone with Connor for longer than a second, he needs to think again. Gavin can tell there has been a major change in him, but he wants more proof of concept before he lets bygones be bygones or risks Connor’s safety.

Niles’ lips press into a thin line—he doesn’t yield, but doesn’t argue further, either.

Connor reaches for Niles’ hand and leads his brother to the couch. Together they sit down, Connor sinking comfortably into the cushions while Niles perches awkwardly on the edge like he isn’t quite sure how to relax.

“Hey,” Connor says softly, dipping his head in an attempt to catch Niles’ eye. “I’m glad you’re here.”

The crease of Niles’ brow deepens. “I’m surprised to hear you say that.”

Connor looks stricken. “Niles… you’re my brother.”

This only makes Niles tense up, body coiled tight. “I’m not sure I’m worthy of that title. I haven’t been a good brother to you.”

There’s no denying it, no downplaying it. They all know Niles is right.

Connor, with his infinite love and patience for his brothers through thick and thin, doesn’t seem to care.

“You’re here now,” he says resolutely. He takes hold of Niles by the crook of his elbow, reeling him in.

Niles doesn’t fight him. The cool contours of his face fragment like broken ice, falling away with the quiver of his lip as Connor gathers him against his chest and wraps tight arms around his shoulders.

“I’m sorry,” Niles whispers, voice splintering. “I’m sorry, Connor.”

Shushing him gently, Connor cups the back of Niles’ head, running his fingers through his hair. “I know, it’s okay.”

With a full-bodied shudder, Niles drops his forehead onto Connor’s shoulder and wraps his arms around Connor’s waist, clinging to him.

For the first time since Gavin met him at his job interview, Niles looks small. He looks like Connor’s baby brother, sinking into the comfort of his big brother’s arms as he tries to hold himself together.

Gavin eases out of his chair slowly, not wanting to disturb them, but there’s no tiptoeing around vampires.

Niles flinches at the reminder of an audience, face still buried in the crook of Connor’s neck. Connor glances up at Gavin with a soft expression that speaks of happiness and—surprisingly—gratitude. Gavin doesn’t feel he played much of a role in this, other than opening the door.

“Call if you need something,” Gavin murmurs, reaching out to squeeze Connor’s free shoulder.

Once Connor nods, Gavin turns to leave down the hallway, giving the brothers some privacy to reconnect.

He goes into the bedroom, passing by the hamper that’s starting to overflow with both his and Connor’s clothes, and falls back onto his bed to stare at the ceiling. Miss wakes from his nap on Gavin’s pillow, coming over to sniff at Gavin then curl up again next to his head.

Vampire bonds are a hell of a thing, Gavin thinks, especially in the bloodline the Sterns belong to. Niles still has an edge to him, but Gavin never thought he’d see that measure of emotional depth from him. He’s willing to bet it’s been over a hundred years since Connor and his brothers had anything like this between them.

Gavin shuts his eyes. The apartment is silent around him; if Connor and Niles are talking everything out, Gavin can’t hear it, but he doesn’t think he needs to worry.

After taking a few minutes to wrap his mind around Niles being here—being different—he rolls off the bed and grabs his laptop to give himself something to do.

When he checks the clock at the corner of the screen some time later, he sees it’s properly morning, past sunrise.

Shutting the computer, Gavin heaves himself up to his feet, stretching out his stiff limbs before heading back to the living room.

The brothers are exactly where he left them. Niles’ jacket is now draped over the back of the couch and Niles himself is draped over Connor’s lap, lying down with his head pillowed on Connor’s thigh. Both of them have their eyes closed, but Connor’s fingers are sweeping gently through Niles’ hair, signalling that he’s still awake.

His eyes flutter open as Gavin comes to perch on the arm of the couch at his side.

“You good?” Gavin asks.

“Mhm,” Connor hums.

He leans closer; Gavin lifts his arm to let Connor rest against his hip, dropping his hand back down onto Connor’s shoulder.

“Niles asleep?” he asks, glancing at the motionless form of Niles folded up in the too-small space of the couch.

Connor makes another affirmative sound. “We talked for a long time. There has been a lot for him to process.”

Now that it’s daytime, Niles will be around long enough that Gavin will get a chance to interact with him again. He isn’t sure what to expect—Niles isn’t quite the same person he was, but their history hasn’t been erased.

“What about Silas?” Gavin asks.

Connor turns his face more into Gavin’s side, pressed into his shirt. “The two of them argued. It sounded bad, but Niles still thinks Silas will come around even if it takes longer.”

“Shit,” Gavin mutters, exhaling a slow breath. “I guess progress is progress.”

“It is. More than I allowed myself to hope for.”

“You’re a good brother, Con.”

Gavin just barely catches the sight of Connor smiling against him. He massages his thumb into Connor’s shoulder, drawing a pleased purr from Connor’s throat.

“Thank you,” Connor says. “For everything.”

Swallowing thickly, Gavin continues to knead Connor’s muscles between his fingers, working out the tension. Without Connor to change his mind about vampires, then Chloe to help them both out of a dire position, they wouldn’t have gotten anywhere.

But Connor wouldn’t have said it if he didn’t mean it. Gavin is growing accustomed to how straightforward he is.

“Yeah, ‘course. Got your back.”

Connor says nothing else, just nuzzles into him and goes lax under his arm.

Gavin presses his thumb into the back of Connor’s neck, gently moving it up and down the column of Connor’s spine until he falls asleep.

* * *

Hours later, once all of them are up and going through the motions of sharing a space at the start of what counts as a day for the nocturnal, Gavin is on the receiving end of the most awkward apology he has ever heard. There isn’t a graceful way to say ‘sorry about almost killing you’. Niles’ repentance is at least half driven by his desire to make amends with Connor, not Gavin, but Gavin decides to go easy on him.

He sips his coffee, leaning back against his kitchen counter while Niles stands in the center of the small room with his hands clutched together at the small of his back. Connor is in the bedroom changing into fresh clothes, so it’s just the two of them, alone together for the first time since the night at the mausoleum.

“I was trying to kill you too,” Gavin says, shrugging a shoulder.

Niles scoffs, not unkindly. “Hardly.”

Gavin raises his eyebrows. “You’re really going to contest that? I fired a gun at you.”

“You were pulling your punches,” Niles says. “You avoided taking any shots that would do real damage. You did not make the same concession for Amanda, and those shots were fired at a greater range. Your pistol accuracy was not the issue.”

With a snort of amusement, Gavin lifts his coffee for another drink. As he lowers it again, he taps his fingers against the ceramic in an arrhythmic beat. “Nice detective work, genius.”

This makes Niles frown thoughtfully, like he’s never considered using those analytical skills for something other than crunching numbers behind a corporate desk night in and night out. Now that Amanda is gone and Elijah has reclaimed his company, all three of the brothers are free to discover their own callings.

“Anyway, it’s water under the bridge,” Gavin says. He’s still a little sore—still feels sick to his stomach when he remembers Niles pointing him in the direction of a hunter’s motel room—but he wants to move on, to put it all behind him.

“If you say so,” Niles replies carefully, like he doesn’t believe Gavin in the slightest.

Gavin can’t blame him. It’s been a fucked-up couple of months, and Gavin has more to say about it.

He moves to stand right in front of Niles, making Niles wait as he takes another slow, measured drink of his coffee, their eyes locked all the while. “But make no mistake, if I catch even a whiff of scheming from you, I’ll make you wish you were a pile of ash. You better be prepared to do this right, because I’m not messing around, here. Your super strength and blood magic won’t mean shit if you give me a reason, got it?”

Niles processes this with grace, giving a small nod. “I have no intention of betraying Connor again.”

“Good,” Gavin says as he returns to his previous spot against the counter. “You’re an asshole, but you’re Connor’s brother, so you and I are good as long as you don’t fuck that up.”

Again, Niles nods, understanding where Gavin is coming from. They’re both making concessions that have everything to do with their relationships with Connor. It’s a start.

Comfortable silence stretches between them. Niles relaxes, letting his hands fall down to his sides while Gavin continues drinking his coffee.

Connor joins them not long after, dressed in Gavin’s clothes and cradling Pep in his arms like a baby, his fingers gently scratching the back of the cat’s head.

The sight of him puts both a flutter and a building heat in Gavin’s stomach. Connor in a soft t-shirt instead of a dress shirt, Connor being adorable with Gavin’s cat, Connor, Connor, Connor—

Niles makes a disgusted noise before promptly walking out of the room. Gavin hears the front door of the apartment open and close, but it happens quick enough that he knows Niles didn’t stop to gather his coat, and it isn’t late enough for sunset, so he isn’t going far.

A sheepish smile creeps up on Connor’s face. He bends over to set Pep down, releasing her when she starts to squirm so she can jump to the floor herself. She stretches her legs as she crosses the room to the cats’ food and water bowls.

“How’d it go?” Connor asks.

“As if you didn’t hear the whole conversation.”

Stepping into Gavin’s space, Connor brushes their knees together and lays his hands down on the edge of the counter, on either side of Gavin’s hips. “I can hear a lot of things, but not your thoughts. So, how did it go?”

“Not bad, I guess.” Gavin takes the last mouthful of his coffee. He blindly reaches behind him to set the mug on the counter, freeing up his hands, which he circles around Connor’s shoulders. “As good as it could, considering. You’re a powerful peacemaker, Con.”

Connor hums as he leans closer, turning his face to press his forehead against Gavin’s temple. “Maybe it’s selfish of me.”

Maybe. If not for Connor, Gavin would have walked away from the Sterns without looking back, but he doesn’t begrudge Connor the desire to keep both him and Niles in his life harmoniously. Both ways are their own kind of closure, and this is the one that makes Connor happy, too.

“If it is, I’m into it,” Gavin says.

Connor chuckles, his breath tickling Gavin’s cheek. “I noticed.”

“Smug.”

Connor kisses the hinge of Gavin’s jaw, then bows his head lower to place another kiss onto Gavin’s neck. The bite wounds there have healed and the bruises have gone pale yellow, leaving only a smattering of scars that Connor kisses delicately.

The care and attention make Gavin shiver, make more warmth pool inside of him.

Despite everything they had thrown their way, they endured together, made it through all in one piece. Connor is relaxed and happy; Gavin is feeling good about the future for the first time in three years.

As he cups the back of Connor’s neck, Gavin says, “Glad I met you.”

Meeting Connor came hand in hand with some experiences Gavin will need a while to move past—but they don’t detract from how happy he is to have Connor in his arms, here and now. From the way Connor goes still, lips a hair's breadth away from Gavin’s skin, he knows what Gavin is really saying.

Connor lifts his head, meeting Gavin’s eyes for a brief moment before bringing their lips together in a soft, sweet kiss. “Me too,” he whispers. “Words can’t describe how much.”

More words aren’t necessary—Gavin feels them in Connor’s touch, hears them in Connor’s tone. All he has to do is listen, trust.

For all that they started opposed, nothing feels more natural.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's a wrap :D thank you to everyone who read, commented, and left kudos. it means so much to me <3 take care!

**Author's Note:**

> if you're interested in chatting with other dbh fans, come hang out at the detroit: new era discord server! <https://discord.gg/GqvNzUm>


End file.
